


Far Afield

by lori (zakhad)



Series: Captain and Counselor [47]
Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fanfixion, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-04-21 09:52:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 179,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4824407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zakhad/pseuds/lori
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Voyager came home, eventually.</p><p>It would be useful to have read the rest of the series, especially On the Madhouse Boards forward. There are a few things within that refer to stories that have not been posted yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have taken liberties with the events of Voyager in later seasons. I did not choose a specific point in the series to start my own AU. Rather, I decided that the inclusion/exclusion of specific events were more important for my purposes than adherence to a timeline - I ignored the episodes that diminished the Borg from a serious threat to an easily-eluded average alien bad guy. Seven of Nine overcame her time as a drone far too easily, IMO, and would have been in a similar recovery trajectory as anyone systematically deprived - severely abused/neglected children do not recover completely in a few years. Some have difficulties all their lives. 
> 
> So if there are things that conflict with canon - it's likely because I chose to deliberately ignore canon in that instance. I spent quite a lot of time watching Voyager episodes and consulting episode transcripts while editing and polishing. In the first season, many ideas were floated in episodes that ultimately never got great treatment from TPTB - in the sixth episode, for example, Kathryn is shown struggling with relationships, debating whether she needs to continue to keep her distance, or whether she can stop being lonely and have friends. Obviously (as evidenced by my many fics written about relationships) exploration of that conflict would have been more interesting to me than the Doctor's opera habit, yet it got very little attention by comparison to other story arcs. So that is an example of a thread I picked up, and holographic rights, hologram-as-life-form, and other such topics may get at most a mention. I do not suffer from TPTB's Seven of Nine obsession, either.
> 
> I consulted extensively with Rocky over a previous, very different version of the story. I retained as much of her good advice as I could. If this story is not so good as the original would have been, she'll be the only one who knows - so my apologies to her if this didn't live up to the original.
> 
> Warning: Long. Novel length, more than 400 pages.

I thought that my voyage had come to its end  
at the last limit of my power,  
\---that the path before me was closed,  
that provisions were exhausted  
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.  
And when old words die out on the tongue,  
new melodies break forth from the heart;  
and where the old tracks are lost,  
new country is revealed with its wonders.

"Closed Path" Rabindranath Tagore

~~~~~~~

_"You seem a little preoccupied, Commander."_

_"This morning I interrupted a couple who were kissing in the turbolift, and I've been wondering if we should establish a policy regarding fraternisation."_

_"Well, the couple in question might be urged to show a bit more discretion, but Starfleet has always been reluctant to regulate peoples' personal lives."_

_"Of course. But we're in a unique situation here. The development of intimate relationships might cause us problems that wouldn't arise on other ships."_

_"I understand what you're saying but, we're a long way from home. Everyone is lonely, and all we have is each other. I think eventually people will begin to pair off."_

_"Including you?"_

_"As captain, that's a luxury I don't have...."_

\-- Chakotay and Janeway, Season two, episode four (Elogium)

~~~~~~~

Her limbs, stiff from being tied for so long, would hardly respond to her attempts any more. The cell had minimal lighting from a single horizontal tube over the door; she wondered if the walls were really green, or if it were the light. She lay on her left side on the floor, arms still tied behind her back, and she knew if she weren't released soon she would die.

One of the aliens returned. It disabled the force field and entered the cell, bending to clip the wire around her wrists. She rolled on her back, chafed her wrists slowly, and took deep breaths -- the chill wasn't helping. "Please," she gasped, her voice dipping low unexpectedly. "I need to -- need -- where am I? Please?"

The alien stared with fathomless black eyes, twin domes on either side of a long ridged proboscis. Insectoid, probably, though what might have been antennae were thicker and shorter, like horns. Its skin gleamed a metallic gray, disconfirming her guess that the light had tinged the walls; it nodded once, slow and decisive, the dangling end of its proboscis reminding her of an elephant's trunk. 

"Please let me speak to someone," she whispered. She'd been in worse situations. She couldn't die in a cell for no reason.

The alien tucked the wire into a pocket of the floor-length smock it wore, then stepped out of view. She sat up by exerting sheer force of will, her back knotting in a dozen places where she'd struck corners and stones as she'd been dragged down into this prison. When she tried to force her legs to work, the pain became too sharp and constant. She'd broken her femur.

Another eternity passed. The light didn't flicker, the scenery didn't change. No furniture -- just four walls, a floor, a ceiling, flat and offering nothing encouraging. The floor felt like ice through her pants.

Then she heard footsteps. Boots, she thought, and definitely not the alien again -- except those domed eyes peered at her, leaning into view, but then it was gone. Something made a rhythmic series of noises, sounding like words combined with clicking, and then a Starfleet officer stood at the door.

She gaped at the man, and he stared back. Seconds passed. The force field dropped at last, and he gestured as he came in. A second officer hurried up behind him and the field went up again.

"You," she managed, wishing her voice wouldn't sound so froggish. How in all the galaxies had Jean-Luc Picard found her?

"Kathryn." His voice sounded so soft, nothing like the one she'd heard from old log entries and reports she'd had occasion to review. "We're here to help you."

The young woman looked her up and down and opened the medkit she'd brought. A minute of tricorder readings told her everything. "She needs to be in sickbay. Dehydration, a broken leg, a slight concussion. Lacerations, but I can help those."

"Do the best you can." His eyes went to the dermal regenerator, then up and around, studying the cell. He wouldn't find anything. She'd wondered if they were watching her, but if so, she'd been a boring prisoner.

The lieutenant finished with the cuts on her wrists and another on her arm, cutting away most of the torn sleeve, then inserted something under her skin with a device that resembled a hypo. 

"Captain," she began, but it hardly qualified as a whisper.

He dropped to one knee and took a small round device out of the medkit, depressing the top. A red light began to flash. "This is a sterilization field, which also has the effect of disrupting any listening devices, or so we hope. You appeared inside a restricted area on the Klanian homeworld, which is in the Beta Quadrant, within Randra Alliance territory. I've been here for weeks attempting to build a diplomatic relationship with the Klane, who are near-xenophobes, which I understand -- the Alliance isn't exactly a safe region to live. Your appearance completely enraged their leadership, who accused us of allowing one of our officers to wander into sacred ground. We're doing everything we can to get you out of here. What do I need to know?"

While he spoke, the lieutenant helped her drink several ounces of a semi-sweet nutritive supplement, which helped her dry throat and filled the empty space she'd forgotten about. Not eating for a long time did away with the appetite, and she'd been existing on air and determination for a while now. The lieutenant continued to work, administering a hypo to her throat and cutting her pants to reveal the broken leg.

"My ship is still out there," she rasped, clearing her throat before continuing. "We made it to the fringes of the Beta Quadrant. Then we lost our warp engines -- we needed deuterium, badly, and materials to make repairs. Our replicators were working but we had no raw materials to use, nor the warp power to operate them. We had to travel at impulse for months and finally found a sufficiently-advanced planet, but they were reluctant to trade with us when we had so little to offer. The ship is still there, much of the crew are working and saving to buy what we need. Some of us booked transport and went to other systems in search of information and parts. One of those worlds had a colony co-existing with a dormant Iconian gate. I recognized the symbols. I sent someone back to Voyager to retrieve information from the computer, while I studied the symbols and tried to activate the system."

"And so you did. Much to the dismay of the Klane."

"How long have I been here?"

"Two days." Picard watched the lieutenant apply an extruded cast to immobilize her leg.

"Hell." It had seemed much, much longer than that. She tried not to move as the cast hardened, but suddenly the floor felt terribly uncomfortable. She itched to stand up and face her peer eye to eye.

"Your crew is scattered around, then? Is there a way to easily recall them?"

"Unfortunately, there isn't. We were forced to split up. A skeleton crew stayed with the ship. Some went to a nearby planet to work on provisions collection, others took shuttles in search of trade." She made eye contact and sat up straighter. "You have to help them. Even if you can't get me out of here, you have to do something now. Before they scatter even more."

Picard's expression gave away very little, but she thought he seemed sympathetic. "Kathryn, what's the date?"

"Approximately 54343.81."

The lieutenant shot Picard a wild look. "Sir?"

"You're eight years ahead of that, Kathryn." Picard gestured at the medkit. The lieutenant picked up another bottle of nutritive supplement and set it on the floor, then opened a bottle of lotion. Rather than let her start applying it, Kathryn reached for it, and smiled gratefully when the lieutenant simply handed it to her. 

"So my crew is eight years in the past, in addition to being thousands of light-years away. I seem to have a talent for discovering impossible situations."

Picard smirked. "You aren't the only one. It would appear we both have the ability to get out of those situations, however. We're going to see what we can do to help. But, for a variety of reasons, we can't compromise the current diplomatic mission. I understand," he added, raising a hand as she began to protest, "time is critical - but you're eight years out of time already, and since any solution to your crew's dilemma will involve time travel, we have some time to decide how to handle the problem of getting you home."

The lieutenant dropped a pack she'd been wearing to the floor, opened it, and began to remove silver-wrapped bundles. Rations. 

"We informed the Klane that your dietary needs can't be met by their food. They allowed us to bring you rations and water. Also, coffee." He tapped the top of a thermos. "Also, a transporter enhancer or two."

"You said this was a critical mission."

A faint smile, and he glanced at the lieutenant. "Missions related to the Randra Alliance and its species tend to go awry. We thought we might give ourselves as many options as we could. Leave them deactivated until you receive a signal from us." The lieutenant handed him a small device, which he twisted -- the end glowed red. He turned it off and gave it to her. One end was actually a fork.

"Thank you. And you, Lieutenant."

"Wait for me outside." Picard watched the lieutenant gather the pack and medkit then leave. 

"I hope you are able to salvage your mission. I'm sorry -- "

"Stop, Kathryn." Picard's demeanor would have been effective enough in silencing her without his request. "This is breaking the rules, but I believe it is important for you to understand -- Starfleet lost all contact with Voyager nine years ago. You were all declared dead two years later. The following year, the surviving members of your crew arrived in Romulan space in your battered starship via an anomaly that carried you across most of the Beta Quadrant. Do you see the difficulties we are facing?"

She took a moment to add and subtract and hypothesize. "The Temporal Prime Directive may be difficult to manage. We lost contact a year ago, give or take, by my reckoning. And two years from now -- my now, when I was at the other side of the Iconian gateway -- we will return in Voyager after locating an anomaly. But you said 'surviving members' of my crew. That may or may not include me."

"I know what I must do, Kathryn. Can you trust that?"

She smiled. "I do trust you."

"I'll do everything I can to get you out of here."

She waited until he'd stood and turned for the door. "I want you to get my crew home. If I can't do it myself, promise me that."

He turned, bent to pick up the sterilization device, and flicked it off with his thumb. "I'll do better than that," he whispered. "See you later."

He strode out of the cell. The force field came back on. Kathryn used her arms to push herself back against the wall so she could relax and open the thermos. She took a long moment to inhale the bracing smell of fresh, black coffee.

Then it occurred to her to wonder -- how had he known of her passion for coffee? And further, why had he addressed her by first name, when she was certain she'd only ever met the man once or twice, almost in passing? And just how would he 'do better than' to rescue her crew?

There was more going on here than he'd mentioned. 

But for now, there was coffee. And the first sip was enough heaven to make her forget, for a moment, all her worries. She reached for the closest ration packet.

"Beef stew," she muttered, remembering ration packs from survival training as a cadet. She'd always hated the beef stew, and for some reason it seemed to be the most prevalent of the hundred or so varieties of rations. "Some things never change."

\-------------------------------------

 

"You can't go."

"Why do I feel as though my mother's come back to scold me?" Picard paced around the briefing room with his cup of tea, slowing near the viewports. The Klane homeworld glowed blue and white, clouds massing over the largest continent. 

"This is your mission," Troi insisted. She sat in her usual spot, to the right of the chair at the head of the table, a glass and a padd on the table before her. "The Klane are your priority."

"You're doing all the work. You negotiated passage to see Janeway. You established a rapport with Cushann." He didn't point out that politics of gender had more to do with it than anything else; once the Klane understood that he was male and Troi female, Cushann and the other three hive leaders had shifted their focus almost completely. Irritating, but at least progress had been made somehow. There were times that the Federation made overtures based on a culture's technological and ethical progress and others when it did so out of necessity; this was the latter. If he craned his neck and peered down at the edge of the viewport, he might catch a glimpse of one of the Klane's fifteen defense satellites, all of which were behemoths covered in armaments that could tackle a Borg cube easily. 

Troi stared at some point in the air over the table, thinking. And frowning, her brows coming together and her eyes intense. As usual, she'd shut him out and he couldn't tell how she felt directly. Angry, he thought.

"Dee. I have to do this."

"Why? And if not why, then at least tell me why it has to be now?"

Picard sighed. "There are events that will be altered if I am here, instead of moving back to recover her crew and help them make enough repairs to start home."

"You could send -- "

"No. Temporal issues are more sensitive even than this diplomatic endeavor -- yes, we have to somehow convince the Klane to agree to a non-aggression pact and set the foundation for further negotiations. But we know that Janeway and her crew must return six years ago, and you know why that has to happen."

"So you're abandoning this mission, canceling your plans for your son's eleventh birthday party, and -- and what? Which shuttle could possibly get you to the other side of the Beta Quadrant? Where are you going to find a time-traveling method that will also cross that much distance?" The shift in tactic meant he'd gained leverage. She couldn't counter his point, so she brought up the difficulty of his proposition.

"I have Tom."

"Tom." She actually looked at him at last, and her wounded expression surprised him. 

"A shuttle can't make it. A Sovereign-class starship will."

"In a month or two, with luck. Unless you can find a convenient wormhole."

"Precisely." He strode to his chair and put his cup on the saucer as he sat down. "A wormhole, in Romulan space. One they use to trade with a species called the Sedrun."

Troi sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "Why do I bother arguing with you? I suppose the Sedrun are in the Delta Quadrant."

"Nearly. We know this will succeed."

"Unless you manage to create some immense paradoxical chain of events that prevent the history we know from happening, and us from ever remembering it. And you still won't be back in time for Yves' birthday."

"Or our anniversary."

Troi sighed again. "There's no way to postpone the adventure until we're done with the Klane? We have a perfectly good Sovereign-class starship right here."

He laughed then. "You simply don't want to be left out!"

"Excuse me for thinking that keeping an eye out for my captain is a good idea. Given your predilection for miring yourself in complicated and sometimes violent situations, a first officer has a right to be wary."

"Point taken." He wanted to take her hand, but settled for knowing she sensed that. Her expression softened slightly, and her next volley decreased in intensity.

"Don't you have to take Janeway with you? She's in no shape to go anywhere, even if we liberate her tomorrow. Isn't that part of the goal, reuniting her with her crew and putting her back in the appropriate part of the timeline?"

Picard paused. "Yes. Unless events unfold in a manner that prevents her arrival here."

"You don't know what will happen?"

"In some things, I was not provided information. I'd like you to get Janeway back from the Klane."

"Me? Because you're so busy with ... ." Troi leaned forward, eyeing him expectantly.

"Commander," he began, pausing as the door opened and the rest of his senior staff filed in. Mengis sauntered to his usual chair, three down from Troi. Mendez sat at Deanna's right. deLio took a seat next to Mengis, and Greenman sat with him. Batris took the chair across from Troi. Counselor Davidson arrived last. Surveying the room, he settled in a chair between Picard and Batris, putting his cup of coffee on the table.

"Don't let us interrupt the traditional argument," Davidson said mildly. Mengis chuckled nearly inaudibly, and Mendez chewed his lower lip.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Picard eyed each of them in turn. He never admitted to it, though they often teased them about it.

"You weren't just fighting about what to do now that Captain Janeway is in Klane custody?" Greenman glanced at Troi. 

"The captain was about to explain to me why he disagrees with me," Troi said, cool and collected.

Now everyone looked at him expectantly, if smugly. {We are too predictable.} He tried not to look at her as he commented. People had guessed when they communicated that way based on a look.

{Apparently.}

Putting his forearms on the table, he glanced around to see if anyone would challenge him. "I have my reasons. Captain Janeway must be rescued from captivity without risking diplomatic catastrophe with the Klane. Did any of you make any progress?"

"Mr. Mendez and I have spent the morning in the hospital, as we planned," Mengis said. "As with most cultures inhabiting this sector, their medical technology is not advanced. I assisted in the healing of several Klane, although the patients were nearly as repulsed by my presence as the doctors. I can't claim that I made friends, but I feel we did gain some respect."

"I wish it were so simple with engineering," Batris said. "Natalia and I couldn't get any of them to speak with us. They listened, though."

"I think they were most interested in the warp drive," Natalia added. "Unfortunately. They have analogs for most of the other things we discussed."

Picard listened as the two teams gave details on the results of their attempts to establish rapport with Klane scientists, wishing it didn't feel so much like dangling bait. Or, perhaps the more appropriate metaphor might be chumming for sharks. What the Klane lacked in medical technology, they made up for in weaponry.

Troi remained silent most of the meeting. Greenman kept shooting glances at the first officer, obviously wondering why. Picard had a feeling they would find out.

And, as he was about to dismiss them, they did.

"Aren't you going to need permission to use this wormhole?"

Picard sighed and settled back in his chair. "Why wouldn't we have it? The Romulans are allies now."

"The wormhole is close to the Tomed nebula, and the Romulans tend to be rather protective of that region."

Ignoring the smirks from his other officers, Picard stared at her, then waved vaguely at the door. "The rest of you are dismissed, so we can finish the traditional argument."

Fortunately, the only audible acknowledgment was a quickly-stifled guffaw from either Batris or Mendez; Picard didn't look at any of them as they left the room. Troi sighed and tapped behind her ear, a worrisome sight -- she usually plexed only when feeling particularly stressed.

"The solution will involve time travel," she mumbled, leaning forward, looking down at the table. "I do not understand what difference it makes whether you go today or next week, or next month."

"Deanna, I wouldn't insist if it were not necessary. You must get Janeway away from the Klane, and I must go help her crew. We'll get them back together again."

Troi considered him for a moment, her expression revealing nothing, and as she had been since the argument started she continued to block him. "She's told you something, hasn't she? When we saw her four years ago?"

"Dee, please trust me?" He considered, as he had done many times in the past couple of days, telling her the whole story.

"If you go without her, either the timeline will change and she won't have been here at all, or I will have to bring her back in time." Troi made a face. "You haven't said what method you're using to time travel, either."

He knew his emotional response already confirmed it, so gave up that point. "You'll take her back. If I take her with me now she'll only try to work. She needs time to recuperate. Her crew needs my help now. As for how... we still have Geordi's calculations for creating a temporal vortex."

It conveyed what he intended it to, mentioning the plan to use something the Borg had taught them. Troi stared at him steadily for a few tense moments.

"Lives depend on this. You have a solid relationship with the Klane -- it has to be you negotiating or we'll fail. I'll leave instructions. You'll know when it's safe to follow."

"When will you leave?" Still petulant, but without the hard edge. Just enough 'give' to reassure him.

He exhaled slowly, silently, and reached for her hand. Finally, she was relaxing and the two way connection between them started to open again. She was still anxious, still a little upset, but accepting. "This will turn out well."

"I hope so. Can you at least stay long enough to throw an early birthday party for Yves?"

"If we do it tonight. He'll understand, Cygne."

"I suppose he will. It isn't the first time."


	2. Chapter 2

"We have traveled approximately seven point two six three years into the past, Captain," Data announced. 

Picard glanced down the bridge at the top of Tom's head. He'd remained seated, while his ops man had toppled and one of the ensigns at a secondary station had lost his footing and rolled down the bridge during the transit through a temporal vortex, shortly after their rough ride through the wormhole. Warning lights were flashing on most panels. 

"Warp engines are offline," announced Kendall, who'd climbed back up to sit at ops. "So are long range sensors."

"Data?"

"I made my calculations based on star positions, sir. We are within a parsec of Nebula AX-2493."

That was their destination; it would be where _Voyager_ drifted, waiting for its crew. Picard left tactical to Rorqual, who had ridden out the turbulence by clinging to his console. The chair at Tom's left hand was empty; he sat in it and waited for Tom to get himself together.

"Benoit," Tom called out. The voice of his engineer answered from the comm.

"Safeties shut down the warp engines, sir. We're starting repairs now. Conservative estimate would be about an hour. We have impulse but shields are down."

"Get someone on the shields. We're not exactly walking through Golden Gate Park, here."

"Aye, sir."

Tom glanced up at Rorqual, leaning left, and the heavy-set chief of security said, "Nothing on sensors. We're in open space."

"Cray, best possible speed toward the nebula. Being a sitting duck isn't smart, I'm guessing. Kendall, coordinate with engineering on repairing the long range sensors. I'll be in my ready room." Tom glanced at Picard by way of invitation. "Get me a more comprehensive damage report and send it through when it's done."

Though it was of similar size and configuration, Tom's ready room had little else in common with Picard's; one of Lora's paintings from her brief artistic phase hung where the fish tank would be. The carpet had been changed from regulation gray to a darker gunmetal shade. Tom headed for the replicator and requested the usual hot Earl Grey and a hot coffee, black.

"This is going to be a long one, isn't it?" Tom asked as he handed over cup and saucer and returned to his desk. "Move somewhere at warp, wait a day, move somewhere else, spend two days on calculations to shift ourselves back in time, wait for repairs."

"It will be straightforward, for all that. We have three distinct groups of crew to collect. One of them will be on the ship. I don't predict a great deal of difficulty with the others."

Tom took a mouthful of coffee as he sat down, running the back of his hand across his mustache. "You could easily spend the time waiting around with Lora, or Verly."

"I imagine this would be good practice for admiralty."

"Sitting around watching other people work? Sure. We had an admiral aboard not too long ago who was really quite good at it." Tom leaned back, smiling lazily. "Still, it could get interesting once we're there. You never know."

"Indeed."

"Did Yves like the birthday present I got him?"

Picard chuckled. "Oh, certainly. What boy wouldn't like a kit to build weapons? Even if they're ancient siege machines, you can still bombard a sister from across the room with them."

"I hope Dee isn't too annoyed, but what's an uncle for if you can't spoil the nephew?"

The annunciator went off. When Tom granted entrance, Data strode into the room. "Benoit reports that repairs are proceeding ahead of schedule. Shields are operational, and we should have warp two in fifteen minutes. I will be heading to engineering to assist with long range scanners."

"Getting bored on the bridge?"

Data smiled, the expression finally coming naturally to him. "I believe I am not the only one who is eager to go where the action is." He glanced at Picard. "Also, I will be able to complete repairs more quickly."

"Kendall won't be too overwhelmed by the increase of responsibility, I suppose," Tom replied. "Have fun in the crawlspaces."

"I will see you at dinner, Captain Picard." Data inclined his head toward Tom and did a neat about-face.

"Dinner with the androids?" Tom asked, once Data had gone. 

"I believe it was Phoebe's idea."

"She's an instigator, that one."

"Still not interested in Starfleet?"

Tom inhaled more coffee and put down the mug. "Not in the slightest. She's still requesting more data from Memory Alpha than anyone else aboard. This quest for identity would probably take less time if we didn't put a cap on allowable bandwidth per person. Personally, I'm rooting for her to choose something like sculpting or underwater flautist, just to annoy Command."

"Any further inquiries from them?"

"No, which is suspicious. They'd need Data's help to start manufacturing others, so I'm thinking it's not that, but I'm betting they're up to something." Tom grinned. "You should sit with her for a while, give her the benefit of your accumulated wisdom and issue some sage advice to help her. Wise old mentor to niece, if you will."

"I have to say, your wisecracks have improved over the years. I hardly noticed the joke about my age until now."

Tom laughed outright -- the first time since Picard had showed up, actually. "See, I wasn't even going there."

"Mm. Really."

They sat for a while, sipping and thinking. As usual, Picard's thoughts turned to family -- to Deanna, really, and how she would be taking the children home for dinner shortly. How she would put them to bed and then settle in to check the day logs, perhaps read a poem, and head off to bed herself. Perhaps in one of his old shirts, or one of the short silk --

"It shows, you know."

He glanced up at Tom and leaned to put cup and saucer on the edge of the desk. 

"When you think of her. Shows in your face."

At least he wasn't laughing about it. Picard sighed. "I left her in the middle of touchy negotiations and put her in charge of freeing Janeway. And once she's done that, she'll have to keep a determined captain from hijacking our ship to go look for her crew."

"If it were anyone else, I'd accuse you of hyperbole. I bet Janeway's trying to talk her into coming after us right now -- even if she's strapped down in sickbay she's pushing for it."

"But it's Deanna she's trying to convince." 

Tom smirked. "So we should be able to finish the mission and get back without worrying about them."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. I'm certain I'll worry, just the same."

\----------------------------

Janeway awakened to a busy sickbay. She felt better this time, much less like a recently-reawakened cadaver, Turning her head took little effort, so she watched Mengis working over a young man on a biobed. It appeared to be a broken bone; the man winced a lot throughout the regeneration process. Finally he let out a yelp.

"You're being very dramatic. Perhaps you shouldn't have refused anesthetic," Mengis commented drily.

"I have to be on duty," the man exclaimed. "Have to have a clear head."

Mengis, turning to reach for a tool, rolled his eyes. "Yes, you do, if you were going back this shift, which you are not. As I explained when you arrived, someone is already taking your shift."

"But Doctor -- "

"Cadet, you were minding an auxiliary panel in engineering, not piloting the ship. I think we'll manage to hold the ship together until tomorrow without you." Mengis turned and applied a hypospray to the cadet's shoulder. Apparently it was a sedative; the cadet went under and Mengis worked in silence. Finally he backed away from the biobed and glanced at Janeway.

"Good morning?" she attempted.

"Not quite. Good afternoon, Captain." He came to stand over her. "Feeling better?"

"Very much so. How long have I been here, now?" The last time she'd awakened, it had been day fourteen.

Mengis smiled. "Going on fifteen days. Counselor Davidson and I think you're ready to move into your own quarters."

"Maybe even man an auxiliary panel in engineering?"

He, and his assistant checking the readouts on the other biobed, laughed at that. "I have no doubt that you could do that. However, like the cadet here, you'll still be off duty until I declare you fit."

"I'd forgotten what it was like, having cadets." Most of her own crew were due for promotions, and some of them could probably skip a grade by now. 

"We have several dozen of them at the moment. Not all of them are quite so eager to make an impression."

"He impressed me. It isn't often one finds a way to break a leg without leaving the ship."

"We have the good fortune of having Starfleet's most creative young men and women, all diamonds in the rough. With emphasis on 'rough.' This one made the most spectacular trip and fall I've seen in my time aboard the _Enterprise_."

"At least he didn't damage the warp core on the way down," the nurse commented. Mengis gave her a scowl, but she smiled and turned back to her task arranging instruments in a cabinet.

"The commander indicated that we should direct you to deck eight, section three, cabin ten when you are ready. If you'll allow me a moment to check you over?"

It took almost no time at all for him to do so, and Janeway found herself in the back of sickbay before a replicator, ready to exchange the sickbay blues for something else. Her excitement at escaping sickbay waned somewhat. She was off duty, but on a ship; she opted for duty uniform, knowing the computer would identify her by voiceprint and give her the appropriate size.

The uniform that resulted was like Mengis' but in the appropriate color scheme, plain black with red piping and cuffs, gray undershirt. It fit loosely. She brushed her hair and put it up, then stared at the reflection in the mirror. Not who she'd been, not last year, not ten years ago -- she looked older, and definitely thinner. The severity of the new uniform didn't help.

She felt a little lightheaded when she left sickbay. Hesitating in the corridor, somewhat disoriented, she chose to go right and stopped at the first computer access panel. "Computer, show me the way to deck eight, section three, cabin ten."

"Proceed right to the nearest turbolift." The panel lit up with a map, which showed just a few turns once she left the lift on level eight. The lift wasn't far.

She left the lift after a short ride and again felt lightheaded, somewhat worse than before. Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes for a moment until it passed and she felt able to move on. She caught sight of her reflection in the highly polished wall panel and frowned again.   A babble of voices reminded her she was not alone and she stiffened as a group of crewmen rounded the corner and came toward her. Two men and one woman, all lieutenants. They nodded to her politely and continued talking among themselves. No one gave a second glance to the four pips on her collar, reminding her once more how large a Sovereign-class ship was in comparison to an Intrepid, how many people it held, how accustomed its crew must be to visitors of rank.  

Janeway resumed her search for her quarters. She turned the next corner and stopped short, this time in surprise.

 A young boy, a frown clearly visible on his face, approached from the other direction. But it was the sight of his companion that shocked her--a large reddish-brown dog regarding her with soulful eyes.

 "Oh!" Janeway exclaimed, overwhelmed by sudden memories of Molly, the Irish setter she'd left in Mark's care at the outset of _Voyager_ 's inaugural mission to the Badlands. Instinctively, she dropped to one knee.

 The boy smiled, and the dog bounded into her outstretched arms. "You're such a beauty," Janeway said with a smile of her own as the dog nuzzled her neck. She ran her hands over the his short, smooth fur. "Yes, you are. What's your name?"

 "This is Fidele," the boy answered, his hazel eyes intent on hers. "Or did you mean mine?"

 "I was talking to your friend," said Janeway. "But it would be remiss of me to ignore you." She gave the dog a last pat and rose to her feet. "My name is Kathryn."

 "I'm Yves."

 "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance. Both of you," she added.

 "Have you just recently come on board?"

 "Yes, I have."

 Yves nodded. "I thought so. Most people seem surprised when they first see Fidele. Some are even afraid of him."

 "I like dogs very much," Janeway said.  She looked again at Fidele, who returned her gaze calmly. "But it's not very often you find one on board a starship."

 "Dogs have a long history in space," Yves countered. "Did you know that one of the earliest Terran spacecraft--it was just a sub-orbital rocket, really--was manned by a dog?"

 "Actually, I did know--" Janeway began.

 "Not to mention that on the first _Enterprise_ \--the first warp-capable ship, that is--Captain Archer brought along his dog."

 "I've always thought that was an apocryphal story," Janeway said mildly. "Ships were a lot smaller in those days. Aside from the generational or 'Boomer' ships, they didn't have provisions to bring families with them, let alone pets."

 "That's a good point." Yves grinned. "Then again, some pets are less trouble than children."

 "I'm sure," Janeway said, trying not to let her amusement show. Pets had been one thing no one had ever tried to introduce on board _Voyager_. Naomi had never created much trouble on the journey, either, though doubtless Tom's daughter would manage to stir things up as she grew older... . Her smile faded. Crushing her thoughts with words, she went on, "Is that what your mother says?"

 Yves gave her another strangely penetrating glance. "Not out loud, but I'm sure that thought has crossed her mind more than once, especially when Cordelia's having one of her fits."

 "Speaking of your mother," put in a new voice. Janeway looked up to see a dark-skinned woman, dressed in a flowing purple gown and a matching, elaborate hat, had approached them without her noticing. "She's wondering why you aren't where you belong."

 Yves groaned. "And she sent you to find me, Guinan? Why didn't she just comm me?"

 "It would have been easier if you were wearing your comm badge," Guinan pointed out. "She might have made a shipwide announcement if I hadn't agreed to find you myself, you know."

 Yves looked down at the bare front of his tunic. "Sorry. It must have gotten knocked off when I took my beam back to our quarters. I'm building a trebuchet," he explained to Janeway. "It's a kind of medieval Terran catapult. I got a kit from my uncle for my birthday. I was moving it from a cargo bay to my room so I could work on it tonight."

 "That was over an hour ago," Guinan said. "Taking the scenic route?"

 "Sorry," Yves mumbled again. "Is Maman really mad at me?"

 "She didn't go into details, but she did seem concerned."

 "Great. She's probably going to throw me into the brig!"

 Janeway raised her eyebrows questioningly. "Is that what usually happens when your mother's angry at you?"

 Yves seemed about to reply, then thought better of it. "Well, she could do it," he said finally. "After all, she is the first officer."

 "You're Commander Troi's son?" Janeway asked.

 Yves nodded. "And believe me, you don't want to mess with her." He turned to Guinan suddenly. "This is Kathryn, by the way. She's new here."

 The other woman shook her hand and gave her a searching look. "You're a long way from home."

 "Yes, I suppose I am," Janeway answered. It was such an odd statement. She opened her mouth, but Guinan had already turned her attention back to Yves.

 "I don't know if the brig is going to figure in the picture eventually, but in the meantime I'm under orders to escort you personally to Lieutenant Kelley's quarters."

 "All right," Yves said, with an air of resignation. "I guess I should be going. It was nice meeting you, Kathryn. I'll see you around!"

 "It was nice meeting you as well," Janeway said. She gave Fidele one last pat and then watched as the boy and dog disappeared around the bend of the corridor. Guinan gave her an enigmatic parting smile before following.

Janeway found her quarters around the next bend of corridor, and discovered she had a fine view forward, as well as a bathtub. And on a small table, obviously not standard issue, a coffee maker and a canister of real coffee beans. Bath first, or coffee? 

"Both," she decided out loud, flipping the top of the coffee machine open to scoop in beans. "Computer, please fill the bathtub, water temperature as hot as you can make it without overriding safeties."

She stood over the machine, letting the aroma of brewing coffee take her away briefly. In the bathroom the sound of running water echoed. Then it went off, the coffee was finished, and she was left in silence. 

She took the mug and sipped, walked to the viewports, and tried to remember the last time she had the time to do nothing but look at the stars. Well, in this case, it was a solar system; one of the moons and a satellite were visible. But it was all very offputting, not having anything to do, no crisis to confront, no threat of immediate destruction by the Borg, the Kazon, or some as-yet unknown foe. Sickbay she had tolerated; it was something to ground her. She'd had to recuperate on _Voyager_ before. But once free of Sickbay she'd had a ship to run, which she'd done even on medical leave on some level. 

Feeling adrift and rudderless, she headed in to her bath, to distract herself.


	3. Chapter 3

"What a wreck," Tom said. He stood between the ops and helm consoles, hands on his hips, staring at the viewscreen upon which the battered _Voyager_ drifted upside down and askew. It had taken a few hours to find the vessel, once warp had been restored. Which was fortunate -- at impulse, it would have taken years.

" _Voyager_ 's impulse and warp engines are not functioning, but there are signs of power usage. Probably emergency generators." Rorqual looked up at his captain. "Six life forms. No response to our hails."

Picard rose from the counselor's chair, which had become his customary seat on the bridge, and stood behind Tom, crossing his arms. "So are you going over there, or am I?"

"Isn't there some sort of rule about ancient captains staying out of trouble?" Tom's question provoked a quickly-muffled guffaw from someone behind them.

"If I ever meet an ancient captain, I'll ask."

Tom bumped him with his elbow. "Flip you for it."

"You could try."

"We could both go."

"I believe I should go," Data put in from his seat. "Sirs."

"That would be wise, I suppose. But I'm not one of those captains who does that wise thing, now, am I?"

Picard raised an eyebrow at Tom. "That's a matter of interpretation. There is wise, and there is 'wise guy.'"

"Oh, we're at the top of our form today," Tom exclaimed. He slapped Picard on the shoulder. Ignoring the smiles of the crew and Tom's exuberance, Picard headed for the lift.

Data trailed along after them all the way to the transporter room before giving up the battle to keep his captain on board. Tom conceded somewhat, to having a couple of security officers along. He stood at the console with the attendant and watched them dematerialize.

The transporter put them on the bridge, one of the few decks with life support. Emergency lighting was dim; it was clear some of the consoles were open as if someone had been trying to repair them. The two security officers circled the bridge and found nothing. Tom had his tricorder out seconds later. "Looks like someone's in the ready room. They couldn't even tell we beamed aboard."

Picard followed him to the door and they hesitated, glancing at each other in the gloom, then Tom raised a fist and hammered on the door. 

One of the lieutenants started to protest that security should be allowed to enter first, but then the left panel slowly slid aside. 

Tom actually stumbled backward.

"You," gasped Kathryn Janeway, as she pushed a stray lock of hair behind her right ear. She stared at them open-mouthed.

Picard closed his own mouth a moment later. This wasn't what Kathryn had told him to expect. "I think we may have miscalculated."

\----------------------------

Shortly after the end of alpha shift, Janeway had finished her bath, put on another uniform and was debating with herself the ramifications of being eight years forward in time and reading the newsfeeds when the annunciator disrupted her train of thought. When the doors slid back, the boy she had met earlier in the corridor stood there, grinning up at her.

"Hi, Captain Janeway."

She couldn't help smiling. "What happened to Kathryn?"

"Maman told me I shouldn't call you that." 

"Are you coming in?"

He shrugged sheepishly. "I'm here to take you to dinner."

At that, she was truly bemused. "Really?"

"Yeah. If you want to go. Maman said I should come -- " He paused, mouth open, and blushed. "Oh. I was supposed to ask first, I guess. If you want to come have dinner with us."

"I'd love to."

He recovered from his embarrassment quickly enough. "Great! Let's go!"

"Where is Fidele?" she asked as they left her quarters.

"He's with the twins. My little brother and sister. They're five." Yves led her along the corridor, glancing up at her while they walked. "Do you have any kids?"

The unexpected question had surprising power to wound her. Memories of Naomi and Miral prompted worries about their fate. Yves stopped walking, his confused expression causing her further worry.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He opened his mouth -- but obviously some thought intervened and he snapped it shut again. Shrugging, he smiled half-heartedly and started forward again. "Do you like cake? Or pie? We couldn't decide what we were having for dessert."

"Either is fine." It wouldn't do to explain that such choices seemed decadent after so many weeks and months of endless variations of leola root, emergency rations, and any other substance deemed edible during replicator blackouts.

Their destination wasn't far away, and as they approached the doors opened. Yves led her through into a large room, larger than her own cabin -- of course, when a couple combined quarters, the result would be spacious. To their right, a door she assumed led to the master bedroom opened, and Commander Troi emerged -- only this was a different woman than Janeway had met before. With her hair down and a flowing dress the color of amber in sunlight, Troi was completely transformed. She stepped out to welcome Janeway and a small girl with mahogany curls came out behind her, dodging around Troi.

"I hope you didn't mind that I sent Yves along to invite you. This is Amy," Troi said, as the girl danced around them in a tutu, bowing with graceful swoops of her outstretched arms. Amy giggled and pirouetted away, preoccupied with her performance. 

From a side door came the twins, followed by the dog. Both children lunged for their mother, but Fidele strode up to Janeway and sat down, folding his huge ears downward and nosing her hand. If that wasn't an invitation to pet him, she didn't know what else it could be. 

"He likes you," Yves observed. 

"I like him." Janeway fondled the dog's ears, and was rewarded with a thumping tail and a wide doggy smile.

"I thought you might enjoy the company for your first dinner out of sickbay," Troi said, helping one of the twins into a booster chair. "Yves, could you handle the replicator?"

Dinner proceeded as Janeway would have imagined it might with two five year olds, a seven (and a half, as Amy insisted) year old girl, and Yves, who apparently just turned eleven. Amy demanded, in various direct and indirect ways, attention from anyone who would talk to her. Cordelia and Jean-Pierre babbled to each other in some language sounding vaguely French, and made requests of their mother in Standard.

Only one detail seemed off; Fidele didn't beg for food. He seemed interested in the people, moving from one child to the next then spending a few moments adoring Janeway with those bright amber eyes, his chin resting on her thigh. The food was very good, especially after years of making do and ever-dwindling replicator rations, and Troi was a good hostess, effortlessly tending to her children's needs and keeping Janeway's glass full. 

Yves chatted endlessly about school, his friends, the homework he disliked, the books he did like -- he had peculiar taste for an eleven year old boy, Janeway thought -- and the kit he'd mentioned before. Building a trebuchet would keep him busy for hours, Troi commented, since the kit didn't include all the pieces, forcing him to replicate to specifications or possibly whittle them. It only seemed to excite Yves.

"You got this for your birthday?" Janeway asked.

"From my Uncle Tom," he replied. "He gives us weird gifts. But they're usually fun. He went with Papa on his mission."

Stringing together non-sequiturs seemed to be a habit for Yves. "Is your uncle also in Starfleet, then?"

"He's a captain, too. Papa said he's really good at what he does but he doesn't seem like it, especially if -- " Yves stopped and stared across the table, dropping his fork on his pie plate. His eyes met Janeway's as she began to recover from shock at piecing together who Papa was. Her sense of familiarity made sense now - he had Picard's eyes. She could see hints of his father's facial features as well, in brow and cheekbones, now that she knew.

"Cordelia needs to wash pie off her hands. Could you see to it she's thorough, Yves? Help her put the step stool up?" Troi said casually. The boy left the table, dragging his whining sister with him. Amy nibbled at her pie and looked from her mother to Janeway.

"I have to apologize, Captain," Troi said calmly. "Apparently for several reasons. Yves is coming into the Betazoid portion of his heritage early and finds it difficult at times to understand the emotions he senses from others. And I had thought you must certainly know by now who his father was." She gestured at the wall over the couch, where a portrait of Troi and her children hung; when she glanced at it herself, she made a frustrated sound and rose, crossing the room to press the lower right corner of the black frame. The portrait shifted to one of Picard and Yves standing in front of a house, presumably somewhere on Earth. 

"Though that would explain it," Troi added. "It's supposed to cycle every twenty minutes. One of the children must have played with the settings."

"Perhaps I should go," Janeway exclaimed, standing. "I didn't mean to upset him." Fidele nosed her hand and wagged his tail, shifting his weight from one paw to the other, clearly expecting to play. "Sorry, boy. Not now."

To her surprise the dog sat down and stared up at her expectantly. She stared back. The dog had been quite responsive to voice commands throughout dinner, too, and now this.

"Maman, I want to show her my trebuchet," Yves exclaimed, returning through the side door. Cordelia, freed from being forced to clean blueberry filling from her fingers, dashed for the toy box in a far corner of the room. Amy jumped from her chair, and Jean-Pierre slid down from his seat.

"Come play with me!" Amy demanded, grabbing Janeway's hand.

"Not now, Amia. I don't know if you noticed how tired she is, Yves. She's only just gotten out of sickbay." Troi met Yves halfway, taking him under her arm. "We should let her rest if she feels she needs to, shouldn't we?"

"Okay." He looked disappointed. Cordelia returned with an armful of stuffed toys, just as disappointed. 

"I'll come back tomorrow to see it," Janeway said, smiling. "If that's all right with you. And we'll see about those stuffed animals then, Cordelia." The little girl smiled and hugged her toys to her chest.

"Okay," Yves exclaimed, brightening at the suggestion. His head jerked up as if he'd heard something surprising; he gazed at his mother, then came forward and patted Fidele. "You can borrow Fidele if you like. He really likes you, and that way Amy won't fight with me over who gets to have him in whose room."

"Fidele will be good company for you, I think." Troi smiled at her son and the dog. "Won't you, Fidele?" 

The dog barked once and panted as he gazed up at Janeway's face. "You're sure you don't mind?" Janeway asked, glancing at Amy.

"Take Mr. Pogs too," Cordelia said, shifting most of the animals to her left arm and holding up a skinny pink toy not easily identifiable.

"Go on, Fidele, we'll be okay." Yves glanced sharply at her as she experienced a flash of surprise at his reassurance. "He worries about us kids. But this is a diplomatic mission and we'll be fine."

Janeway was bade a warm good-night and left with the dog at her heel and Mr. Pogs in hand. The door closed behind them as Amy demanded that Yves play with her. 

Fidele seemed to know exactly where they were going, and didn't hesitate as she strode into her quarters. He followed her into the bedroom and sat while she changed into something comfortable to sleep in, then hopped on the foot of the bed and curled up at her feet.

"You're a very smart dog, Fidele."

He thumped his tail four times and fell silent and still. For a long time, while she wandered in thought, he remained still. Curious, Janeway patted the mattress beside her; he crept up to the spot and rolled on his side, thumped his tail a few more times, and sighed. It was then that she noticed he wasn't warm.

"You're not a real dog," she exclaimed out loud. "Are you?"

Fidele wriggled closer, licked his lips loudly, yawned, and flopped down as if he spent the day chasing rabbits and really needed his sleep, thank you. He sighed again, the long moaning exhale of an exhausted dog. As she stroked his side, she decided she'd imagined it; his fur did seem warmer now than before, and would a synthetic dog have skin sliding over muscle and rib cage this way?

Troi was right, too, the dog was very good company. He reminded her of Molly, and memories of walks and training sessions, making it easier for her to put aside the shock of first officers and captains having children together.


	4. Chapter 4

The handful of crew they'd found on _Voyager_ remained in Tom's sickbay. Once she had been cleared by Beverly, Janeway left them there and joined her fellow captains on the way to Tom's ready room. Picard was on the verge of losing his temper with Tom already.

"How are you, Janey?" Tom exclaimed. Picard shot a glare at him.

But Janeway laughed. "I've seen better days, Glen."

"Jean-Luc's easily frustrated by humor, by the way. The new uniform okay for you?"

"I suppose it will have to be, won't it?"

"Unless you decide to replicate one of the older style, simply because it is otherwise an anomaly that will clearly demonstrate how far Data's calculations were off," Picard commented. Because he couldn't resist a perfect opportunity, he added, "This never would have happened if he were still my officer."

"O-ho, listen to this," Tom crowed. "How do you know it wasn't the unpredictable effect of the tachyons bouncing off your head?"

"You never were one for the science," Janeway put in. "Anyone who's calculated complex equations dealing with the space-time continuum can tell you that it's impossible to factor in every variable, but crew hairstyles are easily accounted for."

The lift ride was endless. By the time they reached the bridge, Tom was unbearably gleeful, pitching progressively-worse jokes like phaser bolts in a fire fight. Picard gleaned from the exchange with Janeway that the two had been at the Academy together, and Janeway's tutelage had been critical to Tom's passing grades in several science courses. Proof of how poor judgment was a symptom of youth, in his estimation.

The bridge crew rose to their feet and came to attention when Janeway came out of the lift. Data stepped away from his chair and smiled. "Captains on the bridge."

Picard stepped out, heading for the ready room. "Will we be able to repair _Voyager_ 's warp engines, Mr. Data?"

"Unlikely, unless we can locate the warp core. It was ejected to prevent a breach. Lieutenant Torres may be able to assist once she is out of sickbay."

Picard gestured at the ready room door; Janeway sidled past him. She paused a moment just inside, then moved to the chairs. Picard dropped into the one next to her, and Tom, hustling in last, practically bounded over to lean against his desk, crossing his arms.

"So what do we do next? How do we get _Voyager_ home?" Janeway asked, very serious and apparently confident of an answer that would please her.

"We don't."

She stared at Picard. After many silent moments of Tom glancing back and forth as if they were playing tennis, she finally spat, "Why?"

"The reason we are here prevents it. That uniform you're wearing will not be standard issue for another ten years. You showed up on a world in the Beta Quadrant ten years from now. I left you in my sickbay. Two years from now you will find a way to move forward in time eight years and request my assistance, which we had to travel back in time to deliver. We overshot."

Janeway gaped at him. "Then you need to move on, don't you?" she managed after a few moments of assimilating the information.

Tom strolled to the replicator and returned with three tall cups of coffee. "After we've gotten your ship going again. Where's the rest of the crew?"

"We left them gathering food and resting on a planet and came here to gather some of the elements from the nebula in hopes of using some to trade, others to refuel and replenish replicators. Thank you." She spent a few seconds savoring the first sip of her coffee, then balanced the cup on the arm of her chair and faced Picard again.

"And someone was shooting at you, judging from the scoring on the hull," Tom said.

"Well, yes. This is the Delta Quadrant." Janeway took another long draw, closing her eyes, blissful. She opened her eyes again and continued her thought. "If you're here for very long, you'll learn there are three kinds of people in the Delta Quadrant. Ones who shoot at you, ones who study you for a while to see if they can shoot at you without repercussions, and ones who don't have the technological ability to shoot at you but will gladly throw rocks or initiate diplomatic contact in hopes of stealing a replicator. We've made friends, but our journey usually leaves them far behind, so we face each foe on our own."

"In any case, we'll do what we can to repair your vessel and help you on your way." Picard smiled. "Given we have to travel through time to get where we're going, we can spare the time. Where will you be heading when you recover your crew?"

"You mean, where will _Voyager_ be in two years? I can show you a quadrant map or two in our astrometrics." 

Picard smiled, thinking about the situation and time travel, with all its convoluted aspects. Perhaps Deanna wouldn't have difficulty with Janeway wanting to get back to her ship after all. 

 

\-----------------------

 

The dog leaped off the bed when Janeway awakened. She heard his nails popping softly against the carpet, then heard a distant beep. When she crawled out of bed and joined the dog in the living area, she found him sitting next to the working coffee maker, which had just dripped two cups of coffee in the carafe. He thumped the carpet with his tail and gazed up at her, tongue hanging out the side of his open mouth.

"Are you a real dog?" she asked, taking one of the cups stacked next to the machine. 

He barked and jumped up to trot around her in a large circle, dancing and play-bowing. When the annunciator went off he ran to the door and whined.

She fetched a robe and came back to answer the door. Troi stood there, impeccable in uniform and smiling. "Good morning."

"Come in. We were. . . making coffee." Running her fingers through her hair, Janeway took one of the other cups and put it next to the first. "I have to confess I'm becoming suspicious of your dog."

"Fidele, what have you done now?" Troi patted the dog's head and turned to accept the cup of coffee Janeway offered. 

"He started the coffee for me."

Troi smiled. "That would be my fault. I've trained him to do some simple tasks. He'll also fetch you a binbat." At that, Fidele barked and ran at the door, which opened for him. Troi sighed.

"A binbat?" Janeway noticed that Troi took her coffee black, disdaining the creamer and sugar. 

"Our L'norim crew gave my children binbats when they were born. It's a small floppy plush replica of an animal that L'norim children are given. They don't play with them these days, so I doubt Fidele will be able to find one."

"I don't know about that. A dog who can brew coffee?" Janeway snorted. Another sip, and her brain seemed to begin functioning. "To what do I owe the visit?"

"I wanted to check in with you before I beam down for my daily dose of frustration. I have another meeting with the Klane." 

"Diplomacy isn't always easy," Janeway said sympathetically. "I've had more than my fair share of diplomatic incidents over the past seven years."

Troi tilted her head, her eyebrow twitching. "I thought I would let you know that school is over at fourteen hundred and I've suggested to Yves that he stop in to see if you might like to be this afternoon's supervision. He's already expecting help with his trebuchet."

"Ah, I see." Janeway smiled; it sounded like fun. "I would be glad to help."

"I'll tell Guinan, then. She'll take the other children to the holodeck for a while."

As Troi put down the mug and turned to go, Janeway said, "You must know Tom Glendenning fairly well, if Yves refers to him as an uncle."

Troi froze. Slowly, she came back around to meet Janeway's gaze. "Yes, we do. I wasn't aware you knew him."

"There wasn't an opportunity previously to talk to you about this, Commander. But if you have a moment there's something we need to discuss."

Troi took back her mug and accepted a refill, then went with her to sit on the couch. Admirable, how composed she was.

"They didn't make it to their intended target in time," Janeway began. "They moved back in time two years further in the past than expected, and found me on _Voyager_ shortly after we were left adrift in a nebula following a brief battle with unknown assailants who took what was left of our antimatter and left us more or less intact. Well, except for the warp core, which we had to eject during the battle."

"I see." Troi accepted that information without blinking. Of course, given the nature of time travel, this might be old information for her. "Only the antimatter?"

"They were the only vessel we came across with transporter technology other than the Borg. They knocked out B'Elanna and her assistant in engineering so quickly they didn't even remember what they looked like."

"They must have known what to look for." Troi sipped, looking thoughtful. "So you understood what would happen the minute Captain Picard showed up in your cell. Did you tell him what would happen?"

"Of course not. He asked me not to." Well, he had, but for some reason she had been unaware of it, when Picard had walked into her cell. Some things were obviously changing retroactively. Proactively? Retro-pro-actively? Janeway sighed, trying not to think too hard about temporal mechanics.

Troi's dark eyes held wary confusion. She probably didn't care for temporal difficulties, either. "So, your presence here means that so far, their trip is going well."

Janeway sighed and shook her head. "At first, it did. We had a rather leisurely interlude, during which repairs were made and conversations had." She paused for another sip. "Then the Minsch showed up."


	5. Chapter 5

Picard turned the page as the Bach piece reached a crescendo. Reading while listening to music was something he rarely did any more, with four children constantly interrupting if he tried. Closing his eyes, he let the music wash over him, until the harsh notes of the annunciator disrupted the symphony. "Computer, pause music. Come!" he exclaimed, slamming the book shut and tossing it aside.

Rather than Tom announcing something in person as he expected, the doors opened to reveal a young woman. She stood stiffly upright, hands behind her back, and didn't move. She appeared to be studying the carpet.

Picard rose, eyeing the hesitant guest. He mused over the peculiarity of his life, that he had at last come to the point at which he, when confronted with a shapely woman in tight clothing, merely considered how best to handle this so she would leave him alone. Finally he said, "Coming in?"

She did so, raising her eyes. "Thank you, Captain. I am Seven of Nine. I am a member of _Voyager_ 's crew."

"What can I do for you, Miss Hansen?"

Surprise showed in her unlined face. She must have been in her twenties, he guessed, possibly early thirties, though he supposed the Borg had accelerated her growth somewhat.

"I wished to speak with you regarding. . . a personal matter."

"Would that be my personal matter, or yours?"

Again, she blinked and tilted her head slightly, the implant over her right eye rising with her eyebrow. "Mine, sir."

For a moment, he considered bluntly sending her away. But he thought of Deanna, and it was enough. "You may be a civilian member of a starship crew, but you are in no way obligated to address me formally. Please sit down." He gestured at the furniture arranged around the low table; she sidled to one of the two chairs and sat. "Would you care for some tea? I was about to have some."

"Yes. Thank you."

She remained silent as he returned with a tray and served her a cup. Taking the chair opposite his guest, Picard poured his own. He waited for her to begin speaking, curious and yet not wanting to know. She sat stiffly almost on the edge of her seat.

"Captain Janeway severed me from the Collective against my will," she said, fulfilling expectations.

"I was given to understand that was some time ago. Several years, in fact."

Again, she seemed shocked, and this time also a little angry. "Yes. Since then I have made progress in learning how to be human, rather than Borg. I find, however, that I continue to feel awkward in social settings."

"What have you tried so far?" The question seemed the most logical, but it occurred to him as it left his mouth that it was in fact one of the first Deanna had asked him, back in the days when she had only just begun to see him as a client. He smiled at the thought, but brought his attention back to the woman in front of him, reluctantly.

She held her cup in her fingertips in a very precise manner, and kept the saucer beneath it -- posing, very deliberately. Her eyebrows twitched upward briefly. "I have read many books, both fiction and nonfiction. I have read about human psychology. I spoke with Captain Janeway and with my crewmates on many occasions to solicit their advice."

"I'm not certain what you're expecting from me."

She looked him intently in the eye, demonstrating part of the problem she had with social interactions - that gaze could unnerve anyone unfamiliar with her history, no doubt. "I had hoped. . . you might know how to advise me. I am not certain how to proceed. Captain Janeway has always been hopeful that we would reach the Alpha Quadrant, and I am not certain there is a place for me there."

"You're afraid."

Another flash of anger in her blue eyes. "I am not fearful. Apprehensive, perhaps."

"What precisely are you hoping I will do for you? How could I possibly have meaningful advice?" He caught himself in time, before he could alienate her, and went on with an explanation to soften his questioning. "Locutus was not raised a Borg."

"I know. I had hoped you would understand what others cannot seem to grasp." Her resolve softened somewhat; he'd taken away hope, he realized. The confident demeanor bordering on arrogance could, as he had learned in the hands of a competent counselor, sometimes be a defensive tactic. In her case, it would be a logical outgrowth of the residual Borg arrogance.

"How do you like the tea?" It was irrelevant how tea tasted, but it was enough to divert her. She frowned.

"It is green tea, which I do not usually drink. It is pleasant." Seven of Nine did not sit back in a chair, he noticed. Nor did she smile. Picard found himself sighing and thinking of someone who did smile, and usually more so when drinking tea with him. Seven -- Annika -- noticed his change of mood. "This observation makes you. . . sad?"

"Not the observation. Miss Hansen, if it is advice you are looking for, I can issue it. But you should keep in mind that it is not polite of me to do so in the manner best suited to your request."

"I did not request 'polite.' I require assistance in furthering my progress as a human."

"Are you familiar with the word 'irony'?" Picard sighed again. "You should help your captain return to the Alpha Quadrant, then ask for her help in locating a place to stay and a good counselor. And then you should go out and meet people, and learn to chat."

"A counselor," she echoed, not quite disdainful.

"Because you will need someone to go to when you're learning to be a human among humans. You can't expect friends and neighbors to be able to do the sort of emotional processing with you that you'll need. You need to sit in restaurants and listen to how people talk, the slang and idioms they use, the rhythm of informal discussion, and find your own style. Since you began talking to me, I notice that I myself have become as stiff and careful as you have been. You have to learn to do the same -- take your cues from others, develop the ability to read nonverbal cues and respond to them without thinking. People are comfortable with those who are comfortable with them."

"I have had minimal success in this," Seven replied.

"You could choose not to make the effort. I can think of environments you might find comfortable as you are now."

"I choose to make the effort," she replied, a bit of color rising in her cheeks. Curious. Perhaps something -- someone -- motivating her to change? He waited, hoping it would draw more out of her. She dropped her gaze to the floor and let the silence lengthen.

"My advice, then, is to live, and continue to practice relating to other people. Observing and practicing interactions in a broad array of settings, and working with a counselor to develop a deeper understanding of nonverbal cues and unspoken social etiquette."

Seven's intense blue eyes came up to meet his. "That is precisely what I have been doing. The doctor has been trying to help me understand. It is unsatisfactory."

He considered commenting on the wisdom of allowing a hologram to tutor anyone in the art of being human, but opted not to argue the point. "It's all you have. It's how all of us learn, by living. We begin as children and learn as we go."

"I am not a child."

"It's unfair," he said, softer than he would speak to any officer - he was reacting to her as if she were one of the children, but perhaps that was what she really needed. Her childhood had been cut short; she'd had no parents for most of her life. In a way she was very much a child, emotionally. "Unfair that you were taken from your family and forced into a life that denied you the self determination and society you could have had as a human. If there were anything I could do to help, I would. But there are no shortcuts to human development. All of us do it the same - we learn through experience."

"I understand," she replied, disappointment distorting her voice. "But I had hoped - it would be easier if I had someone who understands. . . ."

"There are other recovered victims of the Borg. You aren't alone." Although, he was not certain that Hugh and his associates were still around. He hadn't heard anything about them in quite some time.

Seven couldn't maintain eye contact. "If they are in the Alpha Quadrant, I am alone. I had hoped -- I wanted to ask -- if there were an opportunity to become a member of your crew."

Picard stared at the young woman and recovered from his shock slowly, as he analyzed and considered. "That would require a considerable investment of time on your part to attend the Academy, and there would be no guarantee of an assignment to the _Enterprise_ \-- also there would be no guarantee that it would still be under my command when you arrived."

"I have been a member of _Voyager_ 's crew since my recovery from the Borg. I would be an asset to your vessel." 

"I understand that. However, that isn't the way it works in the Alpha Quadrant. While I'm certain you're more than capable, to the point that you might be able to negotiate an abbreviated version of the normal coursework required for graduation, the Academy is not just for learning how to maintain a starship -- it's about learning to be an officer and be part of a team. Learning social skills appropriate for the career, one could say."

Seven regarded him open-mouthed for a moment. "I have assimilated Starfleet protocols. I am sure that I would be able to assist in engineering in any -- "

"You could do so, yes. But there are regulations, and one of the expectations for any Starfleet officer is that you follow them. The Academy is mandatory. Even if you were granted a field commission, you would be required to go." Picard sipped his tea and took a moment to compose himself. Tension was accumulating, mostly in his shoulders. "I think you could learn a lot -- how to have fun, for example."

The annunciator sounded. This time, when the door opened the young woman beamed at him as she entered the room. Her smile wavered at the sight of Seven. "My apologies. I was not aware -- "

"Phoebe, join us. Have a seat. Tea?"

Phoebe obeyed, crossing to sit on the couch and reaching for the third cup even as she met Seven's eyes in her direct way. "I am Phoebe. I live on _Venture_ with my father."

"I am Seven of Nine." Seven glanced at Picard, but he said nothing. "I am one of _Voyager_ 's civilian crew."

Picard reached for the pot and poured Phoebe's tea. "We were just discussing the quest to be human. A familiar subject for you."

"Oh, yes," Phoebe exclaimed with enthusiasm. She flashed a smile at Seven. Today her hair was a bright reddish-blonde, straight, and tucked back into a knot at the base of her skull. She had obviously colored it since the previous day when it had been a deep mahogany. Here, too, was a young lady with an unlined face and no guile, but Phoebe had a gentle, mischievous nature and an eagerness to learn all she could about her feelings. The irony being that Phoebe was an entirely artificial construct. Data had done a marvelous job on his second attempt at procreation.

"You are not human?" Seven asked.

"I am an android, but my father created me to be as human as possible. Uncle Luc has been helping me."

This seemed difficult for Seven to believe. She stared openly at Phoebe. Within seconds, Picard saw the expected reaction in Phoebe's face. Her smile diminished, one eyebrow twitched, and her eyes shifted slightly left as she glanced to her mentor for guidance, or reassurance.

"Miss Hansen and I were discussing fear and other less appealing features of humanity," Picard announced blandly.

"Fear is particularly difficult," Phoebe exclaimed, with the excitement of a connoisseur discussing fine wine. "To experience it properly one must stop thinking."

Predictably, Seven stared as if Phoebe had grown a second head. "Why would you wish to experience fear? While it is certainly one of many human emotions, I have noticed that it interferes with rational thought."

"But one is not wholly human unless one experiences all the emotions."

"I do not see how it would be useful," Seven said. "I have experienced this emotion and it has only interfered with my work."

"I suppose you believe that one can be a perfect human," Picard said, drawing the conclusion from the sum of his observations so far. "I would suggest to you that the Borg are a collective of oxymorons. There is no such thing as perfection. It's a concept."

After a pause, Phoebe said, "That seems to me a non sequitur."

"Indeed," Seven said. "I am aware that perfection is not attainable. However, it seems many humans struggle to attain it just the same."

"Relatively speaking, yes. But each person's idea of perfection is different. I suspect that for you, being emotional is in conflict with the innate perfectionistic drive you. . . inherited from the Borg. Self control does not always have to mean annihilation of an emotional reaction. It's possible to feel fear or pain and not allow it to interfere with rational behavior." He grinned suddenly. "You could ask an empath for examples."

"Like Aunt Dee," Phoebe exclaimed, turning to Seven with renewed enthusiasm. "She would be able to help you."

"Being human is being emotional?" Seven challenged. "But emotions interfere with so many functions. Most humans with whom I am acquainted do not allow them to interfere with their duties."

"You claim you read about human psychology. Most theories and variants of psychology agree that extremes in mood do impair functioning. But suppressing emotion is maladaptive, as is allowing it to guide our every decision. There are times we should pay attention to emotion, and times we disregard impulse. Better to seek balance."

It won him a disbelieving blink and stare from the former Borg, and then the annunciator went off again. Catching himself just as he was about to swear, Picard exclaimed, "Come in!"

Beverly, in uniform and smiling, strode in and immediately sized up the situation. "Phoebe, your father could use your help. He just said in the senior staff briefing that he wanted you to check his calculations as a precaution."

"Excuse me." Phoebe set down her cup and hurried out. She'd need a refresher course on graceful exits.

"As for you," Beverly began, but by that time Picard remembered.

"I was just getting the tea when Miss Hansen arrived."

"I should go." Seven of Nine placed her cup on the tray and rose straight up from the chair, somehow. "Thank you, Captain."

When she had gone, Beverly took the chair Seven had abandoned. "What was that about?"

"She seemed to think I could help her finish becoming human."

Beverly seemed quite amused by that. "Did you warn her you've only had about a decade of experience in helping others become human?"

"I hadn't thought of it, but I might resort to that if she comes back."

"You haven't been around much today. I expected to see you at the briefing."

Picard settled back into his chair, balancing his tea on the arm, and sighed audibly. "I wasn't in the mood."

"You miss her." Beverly reached for the remaining unused cup.

"It's my anniversary. I missed my son's birthday and my twelfth anniversary. So far on this mission, I've managed to confuse a former Borg and deny Kathryn Janeway her fondest wish, and not much else. I should have asked Tom to do this without me."

"I haven't seen you this depressed in years." She frowned at the tea she'd poured herself. "Green tea? No wonder."

"You're not helping."

"Well, I don't know of any pharmaceutical solution, so I'm not certain what you expect me to do. Other than making you some Earl Grey, I haven't a lot else to offer."

"I'm sorry. It still hurts." He hung his head, pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to not feel irritated.

Beverly glanced at him sharply. "Still? I thought that didn't happen any more."

"To some degree it always does, though certainly not with the same intensity under normal circumstances. But I'm displaced in time and distance. In the Alpha Quadrant I'm getting married today. Well -- not today, really, as I believe we managed to be a few months off. But I woke up this morning thinking about the wedding, and how everything has changed since then."

"That's painful?" Beverly went to the replicator and requested another pot of tea.

"I'm afraid."

She returned with the Earl Grey and two more cups. The confession had alarmed her. "Of?"

"The same thing I am afraid of each time duty calls me away from my wife and children."

Beverly poured a steaming cup of Earl Grey and passed it to him. "That Dee will find a way to get a fourth pip and decide you don't need to come back? I hear these things are fun to operate." She gestured around them vaguely to indicate the ship. When he didn't respond, she said, "Sorry."

"That something will happen."

"You're being unusually evasive about this. Something?"

Picard raised his cup to his lips. He'd always found a strong cup of tea bracing; this was no exception. "It's irrational, a holdover from the year before Amy was born. I used to have nightmares in which I would wake up to find that Dee was gone, or that it was all a dream. I felt the same sort of dread then."

"Wasn't that the same period during which the bond was disrupted? It makes perfect sense to me that you'd dream of loss."

Picard sighed heavily. "I suppose it does. Nevertheless, here I am drinking tea when elsewhere in the galaxy Deanna is minding the ship."

Beverly lounged in her chair, draping her elbow over its arm and tucking her ankle under her knee. "I wanted to talk to you about something," she began hesitantly.

"Something you know I won't want to discuss, no doubt."

"It's about Janeway."

"Is she all right?"

Beverly's tenuous smile didn't reassure him. "I think it would help if you talked to her."

Picard withheld his impatient response, exhaled slowly and quietly, and settled for a frown to accompany a calm, rational response. "I'm sure I shall talk to her before we move on to our next task."

Beverly pressed her lips together, her gaze dropping. "Tom came into sickbay while I was finishing up with the last of her crew -- the young man who looks so much older than he is, Harry, I think -- and Janeway had stopped in to check on him. I have Tom mostly trained to keep his hands to himself when I'm working, but for some reason he had to put his hand on my back and kiss my neck. Janeway stared -- you'd think Tom had just pulled my clothes off in the middle of sickbay."

"I'm sure he would love to," Picard said, unable to resist. "And I'm sure it seemed to Janeway that he had. It would be difficult to hold to Starfleet standards out in the Delta Quadrant, so far from the chain of command. And as has been noted previously, overcompensation is still a favorite coping mechanism of Starfleet officers." He held out his cup for a refill, since she was getting more for herself.

"But Harry Kim also reacted. To her, more than to me. Sympathy."

"Hm."

"You need to talk to her, Jean-Luc."

The thought only increased the hollowness in his chest. Deanna might encourage him as Beverly had, but the prospect didn't appeal in the slightest. He had been maintaining equilibrium only by distracting himself from the thought of his family. Any conversation involving fraternization would inevitably involve them. He knew the subject would come up, eventually. It had been one of the things Janeway requested, after all -- for him to make her aware of her choices, and why she could feel less threatened by Starfleet if she relaxed her stance on the matter. But it didn't have to happen now. In fact, he was certain Deanna would be making far better progress on that front than he could, simply by spending time with her and introducing her to the children.

Pain must have shown in his face; Beverly leaned forward and brushed his sleeve, gripping his hand and releasing it. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think she needed someone to talk to, and how likely is it she'll respond well to our counselor?"

At the thought of _Venture_ 's counselor, Picard stiffened. McAvery wasn't what he'd consider approachable. "Just what is it you think it will accomplish for me to discuss fraternization with her? And why can't you address it - you were there."

"I could push the issue, but her attitude toward me turned quite frosty. She'd listen to you."

Picard closed his eyes, wishing for once everyone would assume he'd say no. Borg, androids and angry captains -- when had he become a counselor?

"I think she would. You -- "

"Spare me," he exclaimed, glaring at his old friend. "I am not the sage old father figure of Starfleet."

Beverly smirked at him over the edge of her teacup. "Could have fooled me. Phoebe values your advice. Your own Natalia Greenman has come a long way. And being a father certainly adds to the image of -- "

"Beverly. Captain Janeway is hardly in need of a mentor."

"True. I think she's in need of someone to begin bringing her back from the Delta Quadrant, however, and she's skittish or stand-offish with me. Tom appears to have channeled her Academy self. It's not helping." Beverly leaned forward again to poke his knee. "And, you need to get out of your quarters and stop moping."

"Yes, Doctor," he replied tiredly.

She put aside her cup and rose. "My work here is done. I'll just charge it to your account."

Sighing, Picard carried the tea service back to be recycled and followed her out.

\-----------------------

Janeway woke to the sound of the annunciator, and to the shock of discovering she'd fallen asleep while reading. She hadn't thought she was so tired as that. Putting the padd aside, she sat up. "Enter." As the door opened she remembered who it would be, and wasn't disappointed when Yves came in. What was puzzling was his expression. "Is something wrong?"

"Having a bad day, that's all. Hi." He tried a smile and didn't quite manage it convincingly. "Maman said I could ask if you wanted to help me put together my trebuchet this afternoon."

"Certainly. Let's do that."

They walked together down the corridor from her quarters to his. The dog was nowhere to be seen. "Is Fidele with your sisters and brother?"

"I guess so. He's usually waiting for me after school." He said nothing further on the short walk home. Outside the door he hesitated. "I should warn you, I'm supposed to be tutoring the L'norim kids."

"Tutoring? I thought we were working on your trebuchet."

"We will. It's sort of different than just helping someone with homework -- more like babysitting, only these are L'norim and you don't really babysit them."

Janeway thought about what she knew of the L'norim. "I don't believe I've ever met a L'norim."

"If you met Lieutenant-Commander deLio you have. They're his kids." He inhaled as if bracing himself for impact and led her through the door.

Four children sat in a row on the couch. To Janeway's eye they seemed emaciated, about the size of a four-year-old human, with gray-green mottled skin in various shades. One of them had spikes on its arms. All of them studied Janeway with their small red eyes.

"zeMel, deRon, deRia, and Keph. This is Captain Kathryn Janeway."

All four of them tilted their heads and one of them bared its teeth.

"Nice smile, zeMel," Yves commented, attempting to encourage. Clearly he wasn't in the mood for this.

"Why don't we get started on your project?" Janeway asked. "I'm sure we can all work together -- " She broke off and gasped. Two of the L'norim sprang from the couch and raced for the other side of the room, speaking rapidly in some language the translator didn't pick up. Each of them dragged a piece of wood from the corner.

Janeway found the four L'norim children disconcerting -- it was a familiar feeling she'd experienced and overcome before, in many first contact situations. Their quick movements and sharp teeth hinted at a predatory heritage. They were obedient and spoke little, usually to Yves.

Yves' mood concerned her more as time passed. As the base of the trebuchet took shape, with four pairs of hands bracing each piece while Yves worked, Janeway noted that he hardly smiled at anyone.

Then the annunciator went off, and an adult L'norim arrived. Yves straightened from measuring a cross beam. "Hi, deLio. They were helping me," he announced as the four youngsters zipped across to their parent. "No problems."

"Thank you. Your mother will be home shortly." deLio glanced down at the children climbing his uniform.

"This is Captain Janeway. I don't know if you've met her?" Yves sounded morose now, a shift from merely looking depressed. "This is Lieutenant-Commander deLio, the chief security officer."

"A pleasure to meet you," Janeway said. "You have. . . wonderful children." The usual adjectives didn't seem to apply, and would probably seem disingenuous.

"Thank you." deLio turned and walked away, rattling off something the translator refused to parse that had the kids dropping off him and walking on their own. The doors closed and left her alone with Yves.

"Are you thirsty?" Yves asked.

"Actually, I am. You sensed that, didn't you?"

He was already walking over to the replicator. "Computer, two glasses of ice water."

"Thank you, Yves." Janeway took the cold glass from him. "Does it upset you to have to watch those four? They look up to you, I can tell."

"You're anthomorphizing."

Janeway considered it for a moment. "You mean anthropomorphizing? They don't look up to you?"

"L'norim don't work the way we do. Maman says they don't have the same psychology at all. The kids do what I say and pay close attention to everything I do because their parents designated my father to play a specific role for them, and because I'm Papa's oldest kid I have a role too, and it's got more to do with L'norim stuff I can't pronounce than how they feel about me."

"I see. Is that why you're so frustrated?"

Yves looked her in the eye, facing her directly for the first time since they'd started the trebuchet project. "Maman will get home and ask me what happened today. I'll have to tell her about fighting with Sean at school. She's going to tell me I should have let him lie to the teacher. I hate being Betazoid."

"Well, I can see how difficult it must be, but -- "

"Puberty and growing up and all that is hard for everyone and I should just have a positive attitude and do the best I can," he said. "I will be fine, everything will turn out okay."

"You've had this pep talk before."

"It doesn't help much when I can tell everyone else in my class is having a better time," he said, turning back to his half-finished trebuchet in the middle of the floor. He dropped to one knee and picked up a hammer. The kit was shockingly primitive; it required not modern fasteners, nor even screws or nails, but simple pegs to hold things together. Yves lined up another peg with a hole and pounded until it was flush with the edges. It reminded her of the character of the one who gave the kit to him.

"Do you talk to Tom Glendenning often?"

"Lots, yeah. Well -- every few weeks, sometimes more often. And Beverly, she's a good friend of my parents, and sometimes Tom's daughter Lora."

Janeway had to fight to avoid a shocked outburst. Tom Glendenning had sworn to her once he wouldn't be tied down, wouldn't be enslaved by domesticity, and now a daughter? But then, she wouldn't have expected Yves either -- a son of a first officer and her captain, even less likely than a daughter for Tom.

"Beverly and Tom have a daughter?" Janeway surmised. And now, as she considered it, she began to remember.

"I think she was adopted." Yves slammed the hammer down on another peg. The base would be finished with one more. "You know them too?"

"I know Tom. I was at the Academy with him."

"And Beverly?"

"I know of her," Janeway said, careful not to say too much. She smiled at him as he looked up at her. For once, he seemed to not have sensed her alarm. "You must meet so many interesting people, growing up on the _Enterprise_."

At last, the foul mood cracked a little, as he gave her a subdued smile. "I do. Like you, for example."

"And I'm glad to meet you, too." She nodded. "Let's get this finished. See if we can surprise your mother when she gets home. She thinks it will take days, I bet we can get it done by dinnertime."


	6. Chapter 6

Picard found Janeway on her own bridge. The lights were up, some panels were open here and there, and Janeway and Kim were leaning over the tactical station, she with a tricorder and he with a spanner. One of Tom's lieutenants slaved away beneath the navigation console, head first and swearing under his breath, an open crate of computer parts near his legs.

Janeway glanced up at the sound of the lift door opening, nodded to her officer, and came to greet him. "Captain Picard. Welcome aboard."

"I wondered if you would be willing to give me a tour, now that power has been restored."

Janeway smiled, quite pleased by his interest. "I would be happy to, though I'm not sure what I could show you that you haven't seen already."

"I understand your astrometrics department is quite innovative."

She stepped into the lift with him. "Yes, that would be Seven's doing. Though Harry did a fair share of the work, she pulled everything together and kept it up."

"Interesting that you call her Seven, not by her given name."

"She chose her designation. She's never asked us to call her anything else. Computer, astrometrics." Janeway stood straight at his side; she'd replicated a uniform more appropriate to the period, and put her hair up in a knot on the back of her head. "Tom said you also have a Sovereign class ship."

"Yes. I was surprised to find they were assigning me to the _Enterprise_ again. I thought they might try to give me a desk."

"Encouraging that sometimes Starfleet recognizes mistakes before they make them," Janeway said lightly. "Assuming, of course, that you wanted a ship more than a desk."

"Perhaps the admirals know me well enough that I'd more likely retire completely if they tried." He paused, as the lift shuddered to a halt. "What about you? Will another command be anticlimactic, after all this?"

"You know, I haven't thought that far ahead," she said as they left the lift. Then she hesitated in the half-lit corridor. "No, that's not true. I have thought about it. I merely never allowed myself to think seriously about career; we've lived in the moment for so long and focused on survival. I really don't have enough information on what's happening in the Alpha Quadrant to speculate, anyway."

"I've certainly had my moments of doubt, probably because of being aware of Alpha Quadrant politics. I know Tom has considered hanging up his uniform for good, probably would have if there was a way to stay in orbit around the center of his existence while tending the rose gardens at home."

"The center of. . . are you speaking of Dr. Crusher?"

He understood what Beverly had been talking about, now; Janeway fairly radiated displeasure. "It's fairly obvious, isn't it?"

"He doesn't understand what he's doing. That's obvious to me."

"I'm not certain what you mean. I would imagine after ten years they would have a very good idea of all the risks involved."

Janeway stared at him, momentarily forgetting the tour. Crossing her arms, she tilted her head and seemed to carefully consider her response. "I wasn't aware that -- you're certain? Ten years?"

"I was there when they met. Tom and I have had joint missions, and we're good friends. I've known Beverly since I was a lieutenant-commander, and she was my CMO for a decade or so prior to her reassignment. So I can say with certainty that they're quite intelligent and aware of the risks, and nothing they have faced has disrupted their relationship, despite her complaints whenever he shows up in sickbay bleeding."

"I had imagined. . . ." She shook her head, arms crossed so tightly now that it qualified as hugging herself. "You have to know regulations as well as I do, Jean-Luc."

"Regulations prohibit favoritism and bias. Tom avoids it by not really ordering her around. She's perfectly aware of her duty as a doctor and a Starfleet officer, and quite able to predict in any given situation what her role is. They seem to manage well enough."

"Well." A nervous smile, then she strode down the corridor, uncrossing her arms. "This way." He followed, satisfied that he had addressed the topic and could move on to other things. 

The room itself wasn't unlike astrometrics on _Enterprise_ ; there were some unique features on panels, and Janeway's commentary on the added technology revealed more differences in the computer's inner workings. But eventually she stopped talking, and gazed into his face questioningly.

"You weren't really interested in a tour, were you?"

"Of course I was. However, I am also concerned about something. I was trying to think of a graceful way of discussing it with you." He spread his hands, attempting sheepish honesty. She smiled and leaned a hip against the nearest console, letting her hand fall along its top edge.

"You could start by talking about it."

"Annika Hansen approached me -- " Janeway's immediate dismay was enough to silence him. She recovered somewhat, raising her gaze from the floor. 

"I asked her not to," she said at last, dropping her hand to her hip as she stood away from the console. "She asked me how I thought you might react -- I tried to tell her it wasn't a good idea, but how could I explain to her how upsetting it might be for you?"

"That isn't my concern. Lately I've been reconciled to the fact that ninety percent of my crew appears to look up to me as some sort of wise old philosopher who dispenses advice. I blame the Academy's habit of making us examples for the cadets." He smiled, hopefully reassuringly. "Seven appeared to not only lack answers but appropriate questions. She seems to fear the return to the Alpha Quadrant, and has no clear idea of what will happen to her."

"Did you reassure her?"

"No. I don't believe false hope is helpful." He watched Janeway's face carefully, trying to read her reaction there. "I believe she will need protection. She has no innate sense of human nature and its complexities. She lacks an understanding of her own emotions. I could see her agreeing to some scientific project exploiting her with her permission. She could be easily manipulated into participating."

"I have been worried about her," Janeway said softly. "Partly due to her relative naivete, partly because she struggles with social cues."

"She has spoken to you about her concerns?"

"About some things, yes. She asked questions about joining Starfleet."

"Probably the closest thing to a collective she'll be able to find. Not a bad thing, considering. She asked about joining my crew."

Janeway's head came up slightly. "Really?"

"It's in human nature to find others who understand or share your experiences or interests. I suppose she imagines she might find something in common with me. I hope that meeting me has dispelled any fantasy on that count." Picard sighed and took a few strolling steps around the console, stepping up to observe the galaxy projected before them.

"She will need a safe place, though. With people who can provide her with guidance. I don't know. . . I may not be able to do that for her, when we return." Quiet resignation softened her voice.

Picard turned to her, noting her thoughtful unfocused gaze. "I suggest Commander Data."

Her head jerked upward; she met his eyes, surprised. "Data?"

"He would be able to help her understand humanity from the perspective of someone who started with very little idea of social convention or intuition. He would protect her from exploitation, with Tom's backup if needed -- I can't think of anyone better acquainted with human deviousness than Tom. In fact, if you like, we could keep Miss Hansen aboard the _Venture_ from here on out."

"That would violate the temporal -- " Janeway stared into his eyes a long, silent time. "Why?"

"I think it would be best for her welfare."

Janeway's eyes narrowed. "There's something you aren't telling me. Something will happen between now and the next time you find _Voyager_. Seven is in jeopardy in the near future?"

Picard shrugged. "I can't tell you that."

"The temporal prime directive again?" 

"Sorry."

"It seems to me that you are selectively violating it. Why not just tell me?"

"I have some specific requests to follow. That was one of them."

They faced each other beneath the screen full of stars. She crossed her arms, and Picard had the impression she was squaring off in preparation for a confrontation. 

"A specific request from whom?"

He smiled, thinking about Betazed and how this predestined course of events had begun with a carefree Janeway wearing a bathing suit. "From you. A future you, no less."

"So... I told you to bring a starship and its crew back in time to help us?"

"In essence. You also gave me a great deal of information on specific choices to make, to ensure the best possible outcome."

"I wonder what Starfleet would have to say about it?"

"Starfleet continued to attempt to establish communication and research ways to reach you. I informed Admiral Adira of my plan, and he agreed that the risk was acceptable, if we handled the situation with care. There are considerable obstacles in the Beta Quadrant that make it unlikely you would succeed otherwise."

"Adira? You mean Captain Menome Adira?"

Picard rolled his eyes. "I suppose that detail is inconsequential enough. He replaced Admiral Nechayev as our Fleet Admiral, so Tom and I both report directly to him."

"Are you allowed to talk to me about the obstacles you mention?"

"You aren't going to make it past the K'Korll. Telepaths, genetically modified to control by confusing and manipulating anyone within their range of influence. We estimate there are thousands of races of sentient beings within their influence, no longer advancing technologically due to the K'Korll's control over them. Some are actually suffering neurological damage due to ongoing contact with the K'Korll. I did as well, in our first encounter with them."

Janeway's expression transitioned from incredulity to concern. "You recovered, however."

"Yes. It took months, and much patience as I watched my first officer struggle through confrontations with some of the Randra Alliance's victims."

"Commander Riker obviously prevailed," she said. 

"Captain Riker was elsewhere. Commander Troi managed very well, I'm told. As I said, I was recuperating."

Janeway gaped, only for a few seconds. "I suppose promotions are to be expected. I keep forgetting the shift in time. These telepaths don't respond to negotiating?"

"The influence they have over others was carefully coded into their genes by their creators, the Randra. Who have been absent for thousands of years, apparently, yet their creations continue to exert their influence and attempt to spread it into neighboring quadrants. There are theories floating about at Command that the Borg originated as a reaction to the Randra. Artificial implants are beyond the K'Korll's control and provide protection from their influence."

Janeway's eyebrows rose at that. "So are there countermeasures in development?"

"We already implemented some, and more on the way. We hope to make inroads into the Beta Quadrant to liberate it from the K'Korll, and safeguard Federation borders."

"Well - I'm happier to see you all the time," Janeway exclaimed. She paused. "It sounds like a lot has changed in that decade of time between us. Does that include Command's general attitude regarding fraternization?"

"It sounds like that bothers you quite a lot," he replied, wishing that topic had been put to rest.

"I like Tom. I don't like to think of my friends risking court-martial." 

"Ten years, Kathryn."

"So Command is aware of it?"

"Most of Starfleet is, by now. They aren't the only ones. The regulations remain, but there are more officers establishing relationships with crewmates, working together and continuing to remain within regulation." 

"Really," Janeway said, almost under her breath. 

Picard almost sighed. So this wasn't progressing as well as he thought. "You sound skeptical."

"It's just difficult to believe - call me backwards and behind the times, but a captain marrying one of the senior staff does not sound workable. Especially in situations such as the ones we experience in the course of exploring more remote regions of space."

Picard considered, debating with himself over what to say. This was not one of the things he had specific directions to guide him, just a general request. "Interesting. We are called upon to believe a dozen unbelievable things before breakfast, some days, yet you think that it is beyond us to have relationships of a more intimate nature and still function professionally."

"I wouldn't have expected you to be a proponent of this," Janeway exclaimed. "I would think you, of all people...."

He laughed, shaking his head, startling her. "Of all people. I've never cared about reputation, but that alone is enough to make me curious."

"I know that you have had your share of violations - it's almost expected any more, given the challenges of exploration and the situations we sometimes can't resolve within regulations. But this - "

Picard crossed his arms, knowing he was doing it out of defensiveness. "You believe it can't be done, despite the fact that it has been done. Not just by Tom and Beverly."

Janeway opened her mouth, but thought better of whatever she might have said and closed it. Her eyes still said no.

"The issue is not appropriate behavior on duty." Picard took a step toward her, physically edging closer to his point. "We are all capable of appropriate behavior regardless of our relationships with each other, if we can manage our emotions well enough under extreme circumstances."

"How did you become an advocate for this?"

"I'm not advocating anything. I am pointing out factual information, as you asked me to do when I met you on Betazed."

"We never met on Betazed," she exclaimed.

He smiled and strolled past her toward the door. "I have met you. You haven't gotten there yet." He paused, thinking, and gave it one more go. "Are you honestly telling me that you and your crew have been stranded out here, isolated from Starfleet or your home worlds, without adapting to your circumstances in any way? Starfleet is adapting due to the demands placed on crews who are gone for months -- not years. It has been a stressful, long recovery from the war. How would you be expected to isolate yourself, to maintain that legendary distance from the crew that they talk about in Command school, with a journey of decades ahead of you, through uncharted regions, with no resupply, no refits, and no backup?"

Janeway seemed lost in thought -- at least for a few minutes, she lost the anger. When she finally responded, there was still a slight edge of frustration. "I won't deny that there were times -- of course we all relied on each other. Of course we became a family. But there is a difference between making friends and cultivating intimate relationships with subordinates."

"You're afraid you'll compromise duty if at some point the life of an intimate were to be at risk?" Picard sighed. "You've never risked your life, or the ship, for a member of the crew? Were we to count the number of times such behavior has occurred in Starfleet, we would be here for a long, long time."

"There's more to it than that," Janeway said, in a dangerously quiet near-whisper. "You know that."

"I do know -- absolutely nothing is so simple, once you're an officer. I know also that were our positions reversed -- if I had encountered a situation such as Tom's, when I was of a more rigid and unyielding opinion on the matter -- I doubt I would have been so angry. I have to wonder what to make of your reaction."

The challenge issued, he waited. Janeway stared at him, her expression frozen -- whatever went on behind her mask never had a chance to come forth. The floor beneath their feet trembled perceptibly. Picard's communicator came to life.

"Glendinning to Picard. Report to the bridge."

"Acknowledged." Picard sighed and turned to Janeway. "Tours and arguments will have to wait. We're under attack."

"How do you know? That could have been a decompression, a -- "

"Tom gets that serious only about battles. Picard to _Venture_ \-- one to beam directly to the bridge."

\---------------------

Janeway steadied the fulcrum while Yves hung the weight. "What are we going to use for ammunition?"

"I bet Amy's toys would work."

"Satisfying as that may be, I suspect your mother would have a few words to say in favor of something less likely to provoke screaming."

"No, seriously, Amy will think it's fun. She'll get new toys."

Janeway looked at the back of Yves' head, at the wavy dark hair that wasn't quite like his mother's. He wasn't what she expected, though she wasn't certain what she should have -- the children she'd known were Naomi Wildman and Miral Paris, who wasn't even two yet. Yves' curious taste in literature, his pragmatic approach to life, and his moodiness reminded her of --

Yves sat up and stared at her. 

"Oh." She remembered then, and regretted her musing. "Sorry. I was merely thinking...."

"Right." Yves dropped his gaze to the floor. 

"Someone I used to know. Someone I miss." 

Hazel eyes flicked up again to contemplate her with less intensity than before. "It's hard to be far away from someone you love."

The defensive alarm she felt rose and then fell again like a wave. Janeway waited until it receded to even think of a response. Even then, it took a moment for words to come.

"I would hope that you might be too young to understand that."

"I was before Papa left." 

Janeway gaped at him, at the desolate look in his eyes that did not belong there, and finally closed her mouth. "You miss your father," she attempted.

"Maman misses him more," he said softly.

"Well, of course she misses him."

"There's a hole where he used to be," Yves went on. "It hurts, all the time. Sometimes more. Especially after we're all in bed. She hurts more at night."

"Yves, do you mean she's in pain?"

The boy's eyes were weary, on the verge of tears, and he seemed older than his years. His gaze dropped finally and he managed a weak shrug.

The red alert klaxons went off, completely shattering the moment, and Troi's voice recalled officers to their duty stations and ordered civilians to their designated areas. When the siren fell silent moments later, Yves stood and gestured at the door.

"We need to go. We're supposed to head for deck six." 

Janeway straightened and patted his shoulder. "Let's go."

They joined others in the corridors, more people congregating as they went along, until they were in a queue filing through a door that she guessed placed them near the center of the saucer section. Once inside the crowded room, they found Guinan and Yves' three siblings. Amy hugged him; the twins didn't seem anxious and begged Guinan for another cookie.

"I'm going to the bridge," Janeway told Guinan.

"But this isn't your ship," Yves exclaimed. "You're not -- I mean -- "

"That may be, but I'm still an officer, Yves. Stay with your family. I'll be fine."

If any of them were. It remained to be seen what was going on, and she speculated on the way in a lift with the L'norim, deLio. He said nothing and hardly looked at her, facing forward and standing at attention. 

The red lights splashed the bridge at intervals, and as Janeway left the lift deLio surged past her to his station and turned off the red alert beacons. As she came down the bridge, Troi, without turning to look at her, said, "Hello, Captain."

"Are we under attack?"

"No. We're going into battle, though. When we get to the Delta Quadrant. We've been traveling at warp for a day now, and we're about to arrive at the wormhole." 

"The negotiations?"

"We've been at a standstill for long enough, and there are more pressing circumstances afoot."

"How could you possibly know what's going on in the Delta Quadrant? I thought they were traveling in time as well."

Troi glanced at her, and finally she could see the weary patience in her dark eyes. Eerily, the expression mirrored her son's, which was still fresh in Janeway's memory. "The computer delivered a time-delayed message from Captain Picard issuing instructions, coordinates and providing details on when to make the trip back in time."

Janeway sighed. "This is going to be one of those missions, isn't it?"

"Apparently." Troi's smile verged on the cynical. "As I'm sure you are aware."

"I wasn't aware of the message, or of the orders to join them."

"At this point I doubt we're joining them in quite the way we'd imagine. The instructions put us slightly out of sync with their original goal."

"How long will it take to get there?"

"Greenman?" Troi directed it at the blonde at the helm, who when she glanced back turned out to be the same woman who'd sat with Janeway in sickbay.

"We're at warp eight -- if we can keep it up we'll reach the wormhole in less than an hour. Astrometrics should be done running the calculations for the time jump by then."

Janeway followed Troi's lead, sitting in the counselor's empty chair. "Yves -- "

A forbidding look from Troi stopped her. "Would you like to see the instructions Captain Picard left?"

"Yes. Please."

Troi tapped instructions into the arm of her seat. Well, the captain's seat, but hers for the moment. "It should be on your display." Then, after a pause: "We don't discuss personal matters on the bridge, if it can be helped. It can be too distracting, especially during an alert."

"Of course."

Troi settled back in the chair and closed her eyes. Janeway spent the majority of the time in transit scanning the message from Picard. He'd given a lot of specific directions and coordinates, but some of the directions made little sense to her. She assumed Troi knew enough context to piece it together.

"How are we traveling in time?"

Troi paused, as if considering how to say it. "We will be using a technique that we adapted from an encounter with the Borg."

"A temporal vortex?" Janeway exclaimed. "How? We've never been able to modify our engines to use the Borg's transwarp conduits, let alone create a vortex."

"We haven't modified the ship. The captain would never permit Borg 'enhancements.'"

Janeway nodded. "Do you suppose I could see the calculations?"

"I will defer the answer to the captain, when we find him again."

"Commander," Mendez exclaimed, interrupting before Janeway could try to reason with her. He inclined his head toward the main viewer.

Troi stood as the viewscreen shifted and Greenman announced their arrival -- and there was the wormhole, far off in the distance, a whorl of green and yellow slightly smaller than the warbird approaching them.

"We are being hailed -- Commander Talank," deLio announced. 

"On the viewer, deLio." Troi took a few steps forward, and the viewscreen switched to a head-and-shoulders view of a Romulan man.

"Greetings, Commander," Talank said. "Captain Picard advised us that you would be arriving."

"I don't suppose he gave you any messages for me."

Talank's eyebrow flicked upward briefly. "No. Have we met, Commander? You seem familiar to me."

"I don't believe we have. May we proceed?"

"Certainly." The Romulan smiled and the transmission ended.

Troi returned to her seat. "Proceed, Lieutenant Greenman."

The warbird seemed to slide off the screen to the left as they began to move, and Greenman guided the ship toward the wormhole. Troi sounded the red alert once more, alerting the rest of the crew of their impending ride through to the Delta Quadrant. 

Janeway found herself gripping the arms of her chair in anticipation. All the past encounters in the Delta Quadrant haunted her now; she'd been thinking about them when not asleep, mostly during her stay in sickbay, remembering crew who were lost, wondering what would be different had she made other choices. Being out of her time, able to do things to alter her own future, able to know what might happen -- the longer she was here the more she seemed to remember of Jean-Luc Picard, his doings in the Delta Quadrant, but there were still things missing. What was he ordering Troi to do, really? How much had he told her before leaving? 

This had all the earmarks of a predestined time loop, but there were things that didn't add up. She had remembered the battle with the Minsch well enough to tell Troi about it, remembered Picard's arrival and subsequent assistance... and the discussion with Picard, about Glendenning and Crusher. Picard had said a lot about Tom, and a little about Janeway having asked him to talk to her some time in the future -- the past -- her future, the actual past, apparently, and --

How she hated time travel. Being linear had its advantages. One could talk about time and make sense, for example.

"Once we're there, you expect battle? With whom?"

Troi gripped the arm rests of the center seat, which, like the rest of the bridge, had begun to shake with the passage across the event horizon. "That hasn't been made clear to me."

"A surprise," Janeway said with a sigh. Some of the surprises the Delta Quadrant had given her had been anything but pleasant.

"One after the other," Troi said softly, her smile fond and perhaps even joyous. "Such is the life of a Starfleet officer."


	7. Chapter 7

"Shit!"

Picard bit back a response to Tom's outburst. It did indeed look as though they would be overwhelmed. The Minsch had arrived two at a time until their small ships peppered space around the two Starfleet vessels. 

Tom contemplated while his security officer, Rorqual, issued updates; the helm officer clearly had had better days and hunched over his console trying to keep up.

"How many?"

"Fifty four," Rorqual intoned. 

Another concussion against the shields vibrated across the bridge. At least the Minsch weapons were inadequate, but they hadn't yet come at them all at once. Probably waiting to see what they would do, which was, so far, nothing. Tom had moved them into a position from which they could shield _Voyager_ from the majority of the Minsch vessels. There had been contact, but nothing conversational; the translator had butchered it, but it had sounded more like a ceremonial statement of intent to slaughter and take prisoners. 

"We could tow _Voyager_ away," Picard suggested.

Tom twisted in his seat to stare at him. "Is that an informed suggestion or an idle one?"

"Not informed. I have no intelligence regarding the Minsch."

"Where would we tow her to? Do you have a map?"

"We do have a map. We also have Seven of Nine aboard to assist in interpreting the map and making informed decisions, come to think of it."

Tom actually glared, an unusual thing for him to do anywhere, any time. And then he issued a stream of orders, setting the bridge crew in motion. 

When the phaser array came to life, the ship began to move. Picard held on to his seat and waited for the ride to begin. If he were younger, the defiance against his suggestions might have bothered him; these days he was finding more and more use for the sort of reverse psychology that motivated two-year-olds.

\---------------------

Ten Forward was nearly empty; Guinan turned from wiping a table as Janeway arrived and came to meet her halfway.

"Good afternoon, Captain. Would you like something to eat?"

"I think I would, yes, thank you." Janeway glanced around at all the empty tables. There was a pool table in the far corner, a card table near it. 

"Is something wrong?"

Janeway met the woman's warm brown eyes. "I was just thinking about our... about _Voyager_ 's mess hall. How it would fit in here three or four times over."

"You miss it."

Janeway smiled. "I thought I left the Betazoid on the bridge."

"Perhaps I don't need to be telepathic to see it in your face?" Guinan gestured toward the viewports. "It's a perfect day for star-watching."

Janeway meandered that direction, with Guinan trailing behind, the ochre robes she wore rustling when she moved. "It is indeed." Janeway sat with her back to a large broad-leafed plant and turned to find Guinan standing over her. "Any specials today?"

"Not really. Everyone has their favorites -- sometimes people order by crew member, rather than sorting through a menu. If you ask for a Commander Worf, you'll get a large glass of prune juice. If you'd like a Captain Picard, you'll have a hot cup of Earl Grey tea."

"Hm." She wasn't certain who Worf was -- the name sounded vaguely familiar, somehow. "What if I asked for a Troi?"

"I'd have to ask you to specify further as to what sort of chocolate you wanted. It's usually ice cream, but she's been known to opt for cake or beverages."

"I think I'll just have a Janeway. A tall hot cup of coffee, black."

"All right. Would you like a Greenman with it? A dish of hot peach cobbler."

"That sounds wonderful. Thank you."

Janeway stared at the stars gliding by the viewport, losing track of time. When Guinan put the dish and cup in front of her she jumped. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Guinan began to turn away.

"A question, if you would."

Guinan hesitated, raising an eyebrow.

"How long have you been aboard?"

"I came aboard shortly after Yves was born, at the captain's request." Guinan tucked her hands into her sleeves. "He needed a bartender."

"Somehow I have the feeling you're much more than that."

"I thought you were on the bridge."

"This isn't my ship. Troi is handling things, I'm not needed." The battle, such as it was, had been brief and proved conclusively that this was not _Voyager_ and not her ship. She hadn't recognized the ships that attacked them, and the occupants had neither announced themselves nor responded to hails. After the first salvo the much-smaller vessels had broken off and disappeared into warp. Troi hadn't had to battle so much as demonstrate the firepower of the _Enterprise_ to convince them to leave. It led to useless, wishful thinking, about past encounters and what would have been different had _Voyager_ been so well equipped.

Janeway stared into the cup of black coffee, from which wisps of steam rose, and sipped -- this had to be fresh coffee, not replicated. "This is very good."

"You didn't strike me as the sort of captain who could sit by while -- "

"I'd rather sit here than to one side on the bridge while others make all the decisions. I feel less useless here." 

The confession had the desired effect. Guinan nodded. "Let me know if you need anything else." She drifted off as the sound of the door indicated a new arrival.

Janeway didn't turn around. With the large plant at her back, she thought she stood a good chance at being left alone. She heard someone approach and the muffled scraping of a chair against carpet.

"Haven't seen you in a while," a man's voice said. A moment of contemplation and Janeway was able to identify the counselor, Davidson. She immediately recognized the other man when he responded.

"This month's physicals kept me busy, among other things. Have you been keeping an eye on things on the bridge?" the doctor asked.

"You mean the commander."

"I thought you mentioned an impending annual review."

"Those things are a formality these days, Greg. Four kids and more than a decade, and I have the feeling Command is tucking the reports in their files unread by now." 

Janeway paused with a mouthful of the cobbler, which was very good, and contemplated getting up to leave or at least announcing her presence. Her moment of paralysis was extended by the doctor's response.

"You need to pay more attention, Ben."

"What are you talking about?"

"I don't think they're filing them unread. If you don't stay on top of it and make the effort, I'd bet they would notice and send someone out the way they did those first five years. You know how the captain feels about that."

Janeway dropped her fork and rose, stepping around the potted plant. "Excuse me."

The doctor and the counselor stared up at her, and Mengis actually froze in the act of brushing his mustache with a napkin. He'd opted for cherry pie, she noticed. A Mengis on the menu?

"Hello, Captain," Davidson said after a few moments. "We didn't see you there."

"I realized -- I didn't think you would be discussing such matters where you would be overheard."

The men exchanged a glance. Davidson shrugged. "It's not a particularly sensitive issue, actually. Senior staff in particular are quite aware of the entire process -- they all suffer through interviews scripted by Starfleet Command."

"Pull up a chair, Captain," the doctor exclaimed. 

The invitation startled her, but she retrieved her cobbler and coffee, and took the third chair at their small table. Davidson slid his own mug of coffee aside to make room. 

"What do you think of our little family, Captain?" the doctor asked.

"I'm not sure who you mean."

"The crew, of course. I've heard you have been on a few tours of different departments. Batris was quite nervous about it after you visited engineering."

"Batris has been doing better than he was right after Geordi left," Davidson commented.

Mengis snorted. "But Captain Janeway knows more about warp cores and astrophysics than Commander Troi."

"I was merely asking questions -- your engines are more up to date than mine, remember," Janeway exclaimed. "I wasn't performing an inspection."

"When four pips appear in engineering, Batris gets nervous," Davidson said. "If he would come play pool more often like he used to, or to poker night, he might remember captains are human too. But he's more like Data than Geordi, in a way. Except even Data could turn off work for a while."

"Deanna told me once, back when she was still counselor, that Batris fully expected to transfer when he got a promotion. This ship has a reputation, you know." Mengis neatly trimmed off a bite of pie and swept it into his mouth, returning the fork to the plate. 

"All ships are like that, though. Captains like to choose their officers and keep them until they're promoted." Janeway sighed. "Of course, some of us are forced to put off promotions longer than others."

"There's also the friendship factor - not all ships have senior staff who turn into family," Mengis said. "I only received the opportunity when the prior CMO had a disagreement with the captain."

"How do you know that?" Davidson asked.

"I assume it from the nature of the posting she took and her sudden departure. The senior staff of the _Enterprise_ were stable for a ten year mission and beyond, staying together after the destruction of their ship. They accepted promotions when it suited them, not when they were offered. The captain would have been gone several times over if he were intending to advance his career, as would Riker or Data or Geordi. Deanna had offers as well."

"How many are left of the original crew?" Janeway asked. Given the conversation she remembered having with Picard, this was most interesting.

"The captain and Commander Troi. And Guinan," Davidson said, smiling up at Guinan as she refilled his mug. 

"I was gone for a few years in between, actually. And don't forget Mr. Mott," Guinan said. "The captain considers him indispensable." 

Mengis snorted, and Davidson laughed outright. "The captain?"

"Mr. Mott is the barber," Mengis told Janeway.

Guinan refilled Janeway's coffee and drifted away again. Janeway took another bite of cobbler, which was getting cold. "So four people have been aboard for. . . two decades? That's a long time."

"I've only been aboard for twelve years. It feels longer some days." Davidson shrugged and picked up his mug. "I was originally Counselor Troi's assistant counselor. Starfleet wasn't where I imagined staying -- my intent was to return to private practice after five years of service."

"Not even the prospect of having Captain Picard for a client prompted a resignation, so Starfleet must agree with you," Mengis said.

"I take it he's a difficult patient." Janeway smiled. "I would guess most captains would be."

"The thing is, he's been in Starfleet all his life. It's a very different mindset. I spent twenty two years seeing clients in a comfortable office, listening to people whine about each other and trying to convince them their children needed more structure in their lives. I signed on thinking this would be something different for a while."

"And indeed it has." Mengis sat back, dropping his fork on his empty plate. "You've had some unique clients."

"I wonder sometimes what difference the counselor would have made, if ours had survived," Janeway said. "I'm sure most of the crew will need therapy when we return."

"Yourself included?" Davidson was almost smiling when he said it.

"I've had counseling before."

"I can tell. You're good at dodging questions."

Janeway eyed the counselor, thinking of his attempts while she was in sickbay. "I didn't make your job very easy, did I?"

"I actually found you to be one of my more compliant subjects," Davidson said. 

Janeway studied the two and decided Davidson must be teasing. She smiled, and they responded in kind. 

"How are you doing, Captain?" the counselor asked. 

"I'm fine, why?"

The doctor and counselor exchanged a glance. "You appear to be fine, but I'm sure coming aboard after a long stay in the Delta Quadrant under what sounds like sometimes desperate circumstances has been quite an adjustment."

"Ben and I have a great deal of experience with officers who make radical transitions," the doctor added. "Even officers who insist they are in complete control sometimes struggle with change."

Janeway nodded. "True, it has been an adjustment. But I've realized that I can slow down and breathe at last, and while it's not easy to do while my crew and ship are still lost, I'm giving it a try. Your commander seems to have everything well in hand." Not to mention she knew that there would be a happy ending for her ship and crew -- that had been enough to allow her tension to dissipate. 

"Usually, yes." Ben grinned and took a drink of coffee. "There are times, however."

"There always will be, in space exploration." Janeway picked up her coffee. She swirled the cup, watched the coffee slosh, and took the plunge. They had been forthcoming so far. "Have there ever been repercussions due to the captain's relationship with his first officer?"

Mengis finished his pie, shoved the plate aside, and met her gaze seriously. "Definitely. Our first contact -- the captain's first contact -- with the K'Korll. The strongest telepaths the Federation has ever encountered. I don't doubt that having a Betazoid wife saved his life."

Torn between asking for details and letting the incredible statement be, Janeway hesitated. Davidson stepped in.

"The reverse is also true. She wouldn't be around without him. The time she was captured and hidden away underground -- he found her, where sensors weren't working."

"That was before they married -- well before the bond." Mengis nodded. "And more recently, the time the K'Korll came aboard. Betazoids are disabled by them almost immediately. Admiral H'nayison and several other Betazoids at Command died, as a result of contact with the alien. She collapsed, but suffered no lasting damage. I believe it can be credited to their bond."

"What about all the missions where they apparently had the same brain?"

Mengis snorted. "Yes, the nonverbal communication -- alarming to those who aren't in the know, especially when one knows enough about Betazoids that it's obvious her range is incredible. No one expects him to have that kind of relationship. Human-Betazoid couples generally don't develop such bonds."

"I know you meant negative repercussions," Davidson said, turning to Janeway. "I've been called upon to assess them each year, as you know. I can't see any. Near misses don't count."

"I think you will understand best when you see them together." Mengis glanced out the viewport then, and sighed. "Looks like we've dropped out of warp again."

"What are we doing again?" Davidson asked.

"Following orders left by the captain, without explanation." Mengis pointed up, in the general direction of the bridge. 

"That's not what I meant, Greg."

A shining silver vessel moving along at impulse paralleled their course. As they watched, it turned toward them, and in the distance two more appeared. 

"That's a Minsch vessel," Janeway exclaimed. 

Before she could say anything else, phaser fire from the _Enterprise_ lashed out and grazed the underside of the hull of the other ship. The other two changed course, heading right and left in an attempt to flank the _Enterprise_ ; the view shifted and they were at warp again.

"What was that?" Davidson exclaimed.

"I suspect it will make sense later," Mengis said, picking up his cup.


	8. Chapter 8

"I do not understand," Seven of Nine exclaimed. "This is not strategy."

The former Borg had arrived on the bridge at the height of the battle; now she stood at tactical alongside Rorqual, who looked nearly as disapproving as she. He stood head and shoulders taller than Seven. Both of them fairly glared at Tom Glendenning, who stood in the middle of the bridge. He'd been lobbing phaser fire and torpedos at the Minsch, who were taking turns firing despite their inferior firepower, which collectively were slowly wearing away the shields.

"Four torpedos, right there," Tom shouted, pointing at the main viewscreen. A confusing, milling group of ships filled it, blocking the stars. Collectively, they were emitting a field that confused sensors and made it impossible to gain any useful information about them. 

Picard sighed. "No."

Tom wheeled about, almost stumbling over his own foot. "What!"

"That one." Picard pointed himself, at the lower right hand corner of the viewscreen, where one of the Minsch vessels hovered -- one with a very visible phaser burn along the hull plating. 

"You're sure about that? We wouldn't want to hit the wrong one," Tom exclaimed, the sarcasm barely in check. 

"Two torpedos should do fine."

"You heard the man," Tom said, gesturing at Rorqual.

When the torpedos struck the vessel it blossomed rather than shattering into more debris, and two more explosions resulted shortly after. Several of the neighboring ships were destroyed as well. Debris spinning out of control flared against shields. Within minutes, the remaining vessels began to leave, three by three.

"Okay," Tom blurted, his hand going to the back of his head. "Someone tell me what that was."

"That was their fuel tanker. Those were all short range vessels. They required frequent refueling and the cloud of sensor confusion is intended to mask that procedure." Picard tucked his hands behind his back.

"The Minsch are an inferior species," Seven announced. " _Voyager_ encountered them once. Captain Janeway attempted diplomatic relations and they refused to consider it. We were able to escape before the swarm was completed. Had I been on the bridge when they started to arrive, I would have instructed you to scan for the presence of kelbonite, which is the base of their fuel mixture."

"I suggest we move on," Picard said, noticing Tom's dismay.

Tom muttered the instruction to the helm officer and gestured at Picard to accompany him. Picard followed him into the ready room, where Tom planted his hands on his hips and paced around.

"Let's have a little pre-planning conference, shall we?"

"Tom, I'm not -- "

"Spare me. I want the Borg off the bridge."

"This prejudice against former Borg is unsettling, to say the least."

Tom stared at him. "That's not what it's about. I don't like her attitude. I don't care if she really does have a map of the galaxy and the who's who of unknown species in her head."

"Her attitude? She's frightened, Tom. This isn't her ship, and you're not helping."

"Fear doesn't turn most people into an android or a drone."

"Most people weren't assimilated as a child and rescued as an adult, only to discover they know very little about being human. She's trying to catch up and at a great disadvantage."

Tom crossed his arms. "You should be more annoyed by her than I am, I think."

Picard winced. He tried to suppress it, but Tom wagged his finger.

"Oh yes. There it is."

"Tom," Picard began, trying not to sound too demanding, as he knew that would backfire.

"What, did Janeway ask you to adopt her or something, so you're looking for some other sucker to do it instead?"

"You're -- "

"Right, I'm right, and you get to keep her."

"I already have enough children," Picard exclaimed. "I'm beginning to think you should have at least one more. Lora's about to jump off to the Academy, after all." 

"Nope. She's going pre-med."

It was enough to derail him. "She's decided, then? Dee will want to throw a party for her."

Tom grinned, obviously proud of the girl he'd adopted. "Verly plans to give one, when we find your ship. I expect all of you to show up -- she even wants your girl Greenman to come."

"Natalia isn't a girl." Picard lost most of the smile. "Sometimes it's easier to get caught up in the moment than to realize you're losing the children. I wouldn't trade a moment -- it's been the best years of my life. But every so often...."

"You miss them, those little people with little voices, with big eyes and bright smiles," Tom said, almost as wistful. He leaned left, then raised a bottle from under the desk and plunked it in front of him. "I've been saving it for a sentimental moment."

Picard sighed. "Have you also saved some glasses?"

Tom leaned right, came up with two glasses in his fingers, and dropped them beside the bottle of Romulan ale with a double clink. "Once we start, we're here till we're sober. Verly doesn't know I have any of this left."

"No issue here. She'd tell Deanna, and I'd end up in the brig again."

\----------------------------

Janeway headed for the nursery on deck ten. The series of rooms dedicated to educating children had been placed in the center of the saucer section, away from the outer hull, just where she would have put them if she'd designed a ship for families. 

Whatever they were doing involved traveling at warp for a sustained period, and somehow, they had done so without further incident. For six days, her routine had been simple. She spent her mornings relaxing, indulging herself in whatever book or play she wanted, with a few brief followups with Mengis. Sometimes she had coffee with Deanna and chatted about life as it had been after arriving in the Delta Quadrant. At the end of the school day, she arrived to join the Picard children and their afternoon sitter, whoever that may be. So far, Greenman had been with them twice, and Guinan, and once it was the teacher for the six to nine year olds, Malia. They had ended up in the holodeck twice, but the rest of the week it had been homework, games, dinner and bedtime in the Picard quarters.

She often wondered where the other ship was -- how they were doing on their errands of unknown purpose. If her crew would be aboard when the two ships finally came together in time and place. If _Voyager_ would be with them. She couldn't remember -- she should remember, shouldn't she, if she were with them? But what she remembered was that _Venture_ had moved on, so this must be the period of time between that point and whenever Glendenning and Picard found their way back to the _Enterprise_.

Today, she saw the usual gathering of parents and older siblings in the corridor, but the usual babysitters were missing. She greeted the group, receiving smiles and acceptance, and joined them in waiting for the nursery door to open. Then there was a disturbance in the waiting crowd, which parted for Troi sidestepping through, coming to stand with her. Fidele came along in her wake.

"Hello, Captain," the first officer said happily. "How are you today?"

"Doing well. And you?"

"Less busy, today. We're going to the holodeck. You're welcome to come, if you like."

"Are we doing anything requiring a costume change?" The beach trip of two days ago had caught her off guard. 

"Oh, no. We're heading for the family home, on Earth."

The nursery door opened on schedule. The twins dodged around other children and came at them as fast as their short legs could carry them, arms out. Troi dropped to one knee to catch one in each arm for a hug. She kissed each of them and stood. Cordelia grabbed her mother's hand and reached for Janeway's. Jean-Pierre took Troi's other hand and grabbed Fidele's collar as the dog came alongside. They walked back past the crowd, which shifted to the right to allow them room to pass and then began to disperse as children darted to their parents.

"We're going to France," Cordelia announced, skipping a few steps.

Troi smiled indulgently. "Let's get Amy first. Yves might want to come, too."

Cordelia grinned up at Janeway, her hazel eyes clear as only a young child's could be. "You're coming too?"

"I am. I'd like to see France."

Amy's classroom was on the way, and Yves found them as they reached the holodeck door. He smiled at Janeway; the mood seemed infectious, as the family strolled onto the holodeck and Fidele barked and bounded across a lawn toward a white two-story house.

"This is our house," Yves exclaimed. Cordelia let go of Janeway's hand and ran after the dog, as did Jean-Pierre. Fidele had somehow gotten the front door open and disappeared inside, the latch clicking behind him.

"This is marvelous," Janeway said as she followed Troi up the steps. Amy climbed the railing instead, rolling over the top rail and dropping feet first to the porch. Once inside, the younger children disappeared upstairs, yelling and running around. Troi rolled her eyes at the ceiling, shaking her head, and veered right, through an open dining area to a kitchen. Fidele sat in front of the stove, panting and watching them intently in that way that had Janeway wondering again.

"Can I go to the treehouse?" Yves asked.

"I don't see why not. Want a sandwich or something to drink?" Troi pointed at the replicator.

"Maybe when I get back." Yves glanced at Fidele. "Come on, 'dele."

Troi watched the boy and dog head out the back door, then turned to Janeway. "Did you have many children aboard _Voyager_?"

"There were a few." She'd managed to live in the present all week, but the reminder brought up worries for Naomi and Miral, whose location and status she did not know.

Troi crossed the hardwood floor to the replicator mounted over the old-fashioned stove. "Chamomile tea, hot." She took the cup from the alcove. "Would you like anything?"

"No, thank you. You seem well equipped for families on this ship." They hadn't talked much about the ship, in deference to the Temporal Prime Directive, though she had been observing and trying to remember some of the details, just the same.

"We had many families aboard the 1701-D. When the Dominion War started that all changed. People with children either sent them to their homeworlds or transferred. It's started to go the other way, now; we have fifteen families on board, currently, two of which were started here."

"It must be challenging, having a large family." Janeway watched Troi lean against the edge of the counter and sip tea; she looked completely out of place, in uniform and surrounded by tile and wood paneling that looked to be at least two hundred years old, not in age so much as in styling.

A wry twist of Troi's mouth surprised Janeway. "If only it were just the family. Four children, one with budding empathy, a husband with a penchant for mischief and mayhem, a mother who feels great responsibility to mold me in her image, and a career that clashes with family obligations on an ongoing basis. Not to mention the cadets, the suspicious and angry aliens, and the random visits from Q - at times I think that it would have been easier and less risky to have gone into something like the bomb squad."

Janeway found herself smiling as well. "Q? Still?" She paused, sobering a bit. "Have you found that he's changed at all?"

"Actually, yes. Somehow he's proved to be less of a danger than a sort of crazy old uncle." Troi's smile softened, as did her gaze; she seemed to have drifted somewhat into memories. "Maybe he was always that, and our perceptions shifted. He certainly caused less damage than we thought he would."

"Chakotay likened him to Coyote, or Loki, the trickster god in old mythology." 

"That sounds about right." She paused, glancing toward the stairs. Janeway had learned that when Deanna turned her head or stopped talking, it often meant she had sensed someone coming. Within seconds the echo of feet thumping down the steps preceded Cordelia, racing across the hardwood floor on bare feet. "Cordie, where are your shoes?"

"Jean-Pierre threw them out the window," she wailed. "He took my barrette too!" Her dark hair was loose around her red face.

"Maybe you should go out and get them. Would you like me to come with you?"

"Pick me up?"

Troi put her tea on the counter and came to kneel before her daughter, smoothing her hair back from her face. "You're a big girl, remember?"

"I can't go outside without shoes!" Cordelia looked down at her feet, snuffling. Janeway smiled, thinking about the other day on the holodeck when Cordie had been racing around in a forest shoeless. 

"You could replicate shoes."

Which led to Cordelia shouting at the replicator for shoes, and Troi handing them down to her. Jamming her feet into the purple slip-ons, Cordelia was off and away on a mission to find her missing things. Troi picked up her tea again.

"I realize that it's not my place to comment, but I'm a bit concerned about Yves," Janeway said, taking a seat in one of the high-backed chairs at the table. The boy's mood over the past week had been variable, but mostly he seemed depressed.

Troi came to sit at the head of the table. "That would make three of us. Ten, counting Guinan, Lieutenant Kelley, Natalia and the school staff. He's not handling his father's absence very well."

"I had the impression he didn't like being Betazoid."

"If he were being precise, he would say he doesn't like being an empath. Not all Betazoids are, you know. One of the finer points that eluded my mother, when I was his age." She sighed, staring into her tea. "I'm hoping he can master the art of shielding more quickly than I was able to do."

"I thought it was more controllable than that."

Troi frowned and turned away, getting up to return to the replicator. She hesitated, and Janeway had the impression she was escaping the topic. The front door banged again, and a blur with long dark hair flying hit the bottom of the stairs and trotted up, yelling in French. It stirred Troi from her quiet study of a replicator menu to stare after Cordelia. She asked for a bowl of chocolate ice cream, returned to her chair, and picked up the spoon.

"You haven't been on the bridge in days."

"It isn't my bridge." Janeway also settled back against the wooden chair, sinking a little, sighing. "I also realized that having me there made no difference whatsoever."

"You are feeling less anxious than before. Are you remembering more about our future?"

"Not so far." Janeway raised an eyebrow. "I suspect you know more than you've told me, however."

Troi tilted her head quizzically. "I know that we'll be returning you to your ship soon. I also know that you will find your own happiness, despite the difficulties of making the transition from deep space to the Federation."

Janeway studied Troi's placid and pleasant demeanor, thought about her discussions with Picard, and sighed. "I'm supposed to take a message from my time with your family, aren't I?"

"Are you?" Troi settled back with her hands in her lap, facing Janeway across the table. 

"I have to wonder why your captain didn't wait for me to get out of sickbay to go with him. Certainly when time travel is a factor, that would be possible."

Troi smiled. "I did tell him as much, before he left. He didn't explain his decision to me, either. One of the problems with a headstrong captain who feels he doesn't need to explain every order."

"I can appreciate how hard you've worked to make this happen. Both of you must be incredibly strong willed to have four children as well as Starfleet careers. I'm just not sure what it is I'm expected to take away from this."

"I suppose you could take whatever you wish." Troi shrugged. "Is there something you think you need to learn?"

"Your husband and I discussed Glendenning and Crusher, and the pitfalls of fraternization, some time ago. He never told me about the two of you -- I suppose I should have guessed, from the way he rationalized fraternization."

Troi slowly rose as the shouts of her children came from upstairs. "Captain Picard and Commander Troi would never discuss their relationship with another Starfleet officer, other than participating in annual reviews with superior officers. We have shared our thoughts with a friend on occasion, however."

Janeway stared after Troi as she sauntered away upstairs to deal with the argument in progress with a few curt words. Rising herself, Janeway walked outside on the porch and sat on the top step. 

The sky in this simulation was cloudless and clear, pale blue. She studied the green lawn and the neat lines of red, pink and white flowers bordering the walk, which was clearly old - cracks and breaks in the concrete looked like trip hazards. 

From the tall rose bushes bordering the right side of the yard, Fidele appeared and trotted across to sit at her side, thumping his tail a few times and peering into her face eagerly.

"It's all right for you, no one's trying to teach you things you already know." She fondled his ears and rubbed his neck, jangling the tag on his blue collar. He whined and pushed his head against her shoulder.

"Maman's trying to teach you something?" 

For a second or two she actually believed the dog spoke - but looked up and found Yves had approached silently. 

"In a way."

Yves grimaced and leaned against one of the porch posts. From this vantage he could actually look down on her. "But Maman only does that when it's really important. So that just means she cares a lot what happens to you."

"I suppose that must be true," Janeway replied, out of consideration for the child.

But again, she'd forgotten. Yves went silent, and when she looked up at him, she realized her mistake - feeling the resistance and anger while issuing a statement she did not necessarily believe was true had triggered a small war in Yves.

"Yves," she called as the boy turned away and strode off. Fidele barked and scrambled off the porch steps to go after him. "Oh, dear."

While she sat contemplating following Yves, the door opened and closed behind her - the lack of a bang signified the return of Troi. "My son likes you a great deal, but doesn't yet understand the conflicts of the professional and personal realms."

"I'm sorry that I upset him," Janeway said, edging over to the left. Troi stepped off the porch and turned to face her, smiling down at her.

"It's part of his process. He'll be all right. I've already reassured him you weren't intentionally lying to him."

Janeway eyed her. "That doesn't sound like empathy."

"Post-Phase Betazoid empaths can develop telepathic ability, particularly with family members." Troi gazed after her son, who'd disappeared into the bushes and trees along the side of the house. 

"He's right, isn't he? That you care?"

Troi's gaze glanced off Janeway's face, as if she couldn't face her, and the commander turned into the oncoming breeze blowing up the yard toward the house. "Of course he is." 

"Because we're friends."

"Of course." Troi faced her then, arms crossed. "Why would you think -- "

The communicator chirped - Janeway's hand rose automatically but it was Troi's that completed the connection. "Troi here."

"Sorry to bother you, Commander, but we've arrived and established orbit."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Troi sighed heavily, glancing at Janeway. "This is going to be difficult."

"What will?"

"Fidele!" Troi called. The dog appeared moments later, followed by his boy. 

"It's time?" Yves asked, clearly worried.

"It is. Go to the transporter room, Fidele. Remember your orders?"

Fidele barked and ran past her as she called for the arch. Yves watched his dog go with sagging shoulders. When Troi crossed the sidewalk and joined him on the grass to put her arm around him, he leaned against his mother as if he'd been waiting for the opportunity.

"I miss Papa," he murmured.

"So do I, petit. But you know it's only for a while, he'll be back. Would you like to sit and talk with us?"

"Why doesn't she like you, Maman?"

Troi smiled at Janeway as she rubbed her son's shoulder comfortingly. "Remember when we discussed how sometimes we make incorrect assumptions about the feelings of others?"

"But -- " Yves put his arms around Troi's waist and clung to her.

"She doesn't like being away from her ship."

Yves let go, standing back to look at his mother. "But how can you tell?"

Troi put a hand on his arm, all her attention on him. "Do we need to review how not to take the emotions of others personally?"

"No." Yves looked at the ground. "Sorry."

"Yves. No one expects you to be perfect. I realize, being your father's son, you have a genetic predisposition to be harder on yourself than you should be, however. . . ." Troi had to pick up Yves' chin to get him to raise his head. "Petit, you are already stronger and more capable than I was at your age. I'm proud of you."

Janeway considered making an exit, but debated the possibility that rising from the step to leave might be more disruptive than anything else. But the mother-son moment ended the minute she started to consider, both of them turning to her, and she realized her discomfort had more to do with it than --

"You know," she began, rising to her feet, "I think I have developed a new level of respect for your husband, Commander."

Troi laughed at it, and Yves looked confused. She glanced down at him. "Where is your sister, Yves?" 

"In the -- I'll go get her." He walked off and through the trees, radiating longsuffering angst.

Troi sighed heavily, crossing her arms. "All that misery, because he can't get answers. I'm afraid he's another starship captain in the bud."

"He's a handsome young man, intelligent too. I think you've done a wonderful job raising him."

Troi smiled until a dimple appeared, clearly proud. "His father's son, In so many ways. I have been trying very hard not to think about that day when he starts to notice girls."

"Oh, my, yes. That will be interesting." 

"I do hope to be able to see him rise through the ranks."

"I'm curious about something."

"What's that?" Troi sat on the top step, leaning back on her elbows on the porch, looking out of place in their traditionally furnished surroundings. Janeway joined her, stretching out her legs in front of her, crossing them at the ankles.

"Are the children aware that their dog isn't really a dog?"

"They are. He talks to them, after all."

"Talks? He's holding out on me!"

"I'll let him know that he can, and he will." Troi seemed to drift away a little, as if concentrating.

"Where did you send him?"

"There will be a rescue attempt made tomorrow that will result in Tom Glendenning's death without intervention. We're dropping Fidele off on our way to the next destination, which is quite close."

"So this is a loop in time - I wonder how many iterations this is?"

"I try not to think too hard about that." Deanna shook her head. "All the headaches time travel causes."

"Oh, yes." Janeway sighed and deliberately rerouted her thoughts. She could see why the family came here, it was so quiet and beautiful. Definitely nothing like a starship. "The children call this your house - is this the Picard family home?"

A sad smile graced Troi's face as she turned to look at Janeway. "Yes. We created this simulation so the children could spend time here."

"But it makes you sad?"

"Jean-Luc is not here. I miss him."

Janeway remembered Yves' words during the red alert, and wondered again. 

"You have a question?"

It was still a little startling when she responded to the unspoken. "I have many, but -- Yves seems to worry about you a great deal. He believes that you are actually in pain when his father is off the ship."

Troi sighed heavily, sat up, rested her elbows on her knees and leaned on them. "One of the drawbacks of empathic children. It caused so much friction between my mother and me. He senses the loss that I feel, because it can be especially sharp and painful at times."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"We are bonded, my husband and I. It becomes very difficult to be separated this way." Troi's brow furrowed and she looked away -- Janeway thought she must be about to cry.

"I'm sorry."

"We do well just the same." She brushed her hair out of her face, composed herself, and gave Janeway a brittle smile. 

"Will he be back soon?"

Troi rose from the porch step, squaring her shoulders. She sighed heavily. A subtle shift of demeanor and she transitioned to an officer again, her head coming up as if she listened to a distant voice. "Computer, end program."

Janeway came to her feet as the porch dissolved. "What is it?"

"Yves, take your siblings to Guinan and stay with her," Troi ordered as the children ran to her, all clearly alarmed. 

"Maman -- " Cordelia cried, but her mother cut her off.

"Amy, Cordelia, Jean-Pierre -- go with your brother. Now." 

The children froze, eyes wide, and it was clear their mother's firm order had been taken seriously. Amy moved first, breaking the ice, and her siblings followed her as she raced for the exit. Yves followed them, glancing over his shoulder at Troi and Janeway with a sober expression that surprised Janeway. Once the children were gone, Troi hurried for the door herself. Janeway strode out with her, on the verge of asking again, but Troi tapped her badge.

"Troi to bridge. Red alert."

"Sir?" came the query even as the klaxon sounded and the halls glowed red in the flash of the alert. 

"When we drop out of warp, raise the shields - Borg protocols, Lieutenant."

"Borg?" Janeway exclaimed. At once, she became a captain ready for battle -- her feet took her into the lift with Troi, her shoulders squaring, her mind already racing ahead forming battle tactics.

"My instructions don't include facing the Borg. No matter. We can manage." Troi glanced at her as they rode toward the bridge. "Are you ready to find the rest of your crew?"

"Absolutely."

They emerged on a silent bridge. Troi marched down to take the captain's chair, and after a moment's hesitation, Janeway took the empty spot to her left. As she sat, the ship dropped out of warp.

"Sir, there are no Borg vessels on. . . ." The young man at tactical frowned at his board. "Long range sensors are picking up a single cube. It's approaching a class M planet."

"Full impulse. Plot a course to intercept."

"Aye, sir." Greenman's hands flitted across the panel in front of her.

As the ship approached the planet and the cube came into view against the blue-green hues of the planet's atmosphere, Janeway inhaled sharply. "This is Kyron," she muttered. "I left more than hundred people here. What's the date?"

"We should be arriving one month following the day you left them there." Troi studied the readouts at her right and left. "Just in time."

"You weren't expecting the Borg, but you were expecting. . . something tragic?"

"The _Venture_ would arrive here in two days. They would have found them all missing." Troi glanced at her, briefly meeting her eyes. 

As she finished the sentence, the Borg began their announcement, co-opting the communications system. _We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile._

"This is the _Enterprise_ ," Troi announced in turn. "Stand down and withdraw."

The cube loomed larger -- the ship still approached at full impulse, Janeway realized. _We are the Borg. You will be --_

"They're attempting a tractor lock," deLio announced.

"Close the channel. Attack pattern theta." Troi leaned forward slightly as the first Borg tractor beam locked on.

Janeway stared at the cube on the viewscreen, and found herself on the verge of barking an order to attack -- but the crew already had the weapons active. The cube's tractor beam faltered under the barrage of carefully modulated bursts from the deflector array, and though the ship shuddered under the impact of the Borg's weaponry, the shields held. Quantum torpedos and modulated phaser bursts hammered the cube for twenty minutes as the two vessels maneuvered around each other. Some remote drones were launched, targeting the cube's primary systems, only to be destroyed time after time; then one of the drones reached its target and the cube slowly disintegrated in a cascade of explosions, leaving debris spinning off in decaying orbits.

"I must say, this ship came prepared," Janeway commented.

"We've upgraded a few systems," Troi said, turning to Janeway. "This ship was designed with the Borg as well as the Dominion in mind, after all. Stand down from red alert, Lieutenant. Scan for life signs on the planet."

"Canceling red alert, aye. I am detecting several Federation shuttlecraft and one hundred and four life signs. We are being hailed." 

"Put them on screen."

The main viewer flickered to a view of the inside of a shuttle, with Tom Paris front and center. He'd grown a short beard since the last time she'd seen him. "Captain!"

"Hello, Tom," Janeway said, beaming. "How are you all?"

"All of us are going to be a lot better knowing you found Starfleet and came back to rescue us." He grinned, looking a lot younger than he usually did. The observation tugged at Janeway's heart and postponed her response for a few seconds. When had Tom stopped looking like the young man he really was?

"Are the shuttles in working order?" 

"Yes, ma'am, we're ready to go when you are."

Troi rose from her seat. "Hello, Mr. Paris. I'm Commander Troi. We'll be transporting the balance of your people directly from the surface shortly. You can bring the shuttles up whenever you wish."

"Yes, ma'am!" Tom turned at the sound of footfalls, as Vorik entered the shuttle. "Go tell the others to get ready to go. The captain's here."

"Mr. Mendez will coordinate the recovery of your crew," Troi said, sidestepping toward the ready room. She glanced at Mendez, who'd risen from the first officer's chair. "The captain and I will be in the ready room. Have the counselor report to sickbay. He and Dr. Mengis will want to assess and see to their needs."

Janeway took the hint and followed her. She had been in this room once previously, noting the fish tank and a row of children's drawings along the wall. She recognized Cordelia's by the overuse of the color purple in a crayon version of the _Enterprise_. 

She was about to comment when Troi handed her a hot cup of coffee. "Thank you, Commander. How did you know?"

Troi smiled and went to the desk, gesturing at the two chairs before it. "Make yourself comfortable."

"How long does it usually take people to stop asking how you know when they want?"

"I don't do it for everyone. It's a difficult adjustment for people who don't spend a lot of time with empaths." Troi tapped out commands and brought up the monitor. "You'll next want to head for sickbay, possibly the shuttle bay or transporter room, to reassure yourself the crew is safe and re-establish contact. They'll want to know you're safe as well. But I wanted to give you a moment to prepare yourself."

Janeway inhaled, ready to take exception to it, but checked herself, reconsidered, and smiled again. "Yes. Thank you." She took a sip, then a longer sip, of the coffee -- it was perfect. Just strong enough but not so strong it tasted bitter, just hot enough, just sweet enough. Troi had offered her coffee frequently over the past few weeks and each time it had been different. 

"It takes a while, when you're only an empath," Troi commented, "but pattern recognition can be useful. I've stored the pattern in the replicator under 'Janeway one.'"

Janeway cradled the cup in her hands and studied the commander openly. "I'm sorry, Deanna."

A raised eyebrow and a hint of a smile. "For?"

"For doubting your intentions. You've been very kind and patient. I'm. . . not accustomed to thinking in terms of what's best for me. I suspect this is something all starship captains are prone to?"

"Yes, very much so." Deanna leaned back in her commanding officer's chair, tilting her head slightly. "No need for apology. I'm aware that you have been at a disadvantage."

"Have I?"

" _Voyager_ was your first command. It may feel as though you've been a captain all your life, but it's been less than a decade -- and you had the misfortune of being separated from any Starfleet support. So you were never allowed the chance to realize that you are not alone in the universe, with no other captains or admirals who would understand."

"I wasn't aware there were support groups in the Alpha Quadrant for newly promoted captains."

Troi only nodded and looked amused. "Nothing formal, certainly. But I have noticed that starship captains do have an automatic bond with one another. Humans in particular seem to understand and value shared experiences."

"Betazoids don't?"

'Betazoids are able to share more than an understanding." Troi glanced at the monitor. "More than half of your people are aboard, and I sense that all of them are excited. Your Mr. Paris has already asked our computer where B'Elanna Torres is."

"His wife. She and their daughter stayed with _Voyager_. He must think we've already picked them up."

"That will be our next destination. You'll need their assistance in getting your ship to its rendezvous with us, in the future."

Janeway blinked. "I see. Yes -- of course."

"Would you like another coffee before we head for sickbay to see your crew?"

When Troi brought it to her, Janeway took it and thanked her quietly. She waited for the commander to return to her seat behind the desk. "I think we do have a difficult time ahead of us. I hope you will be able to help us."

Troi had the counselor's patient look as she gazed across the top of her cup at Janeway. 

"It took being aboard your vessel to realize how far from regulation we've drifted -- how many corners we've cut. How many people I have aboard who aren't really in Starfleet."

"You worry about all of them, equally -- to you they are all crew." She sipped slowly, not taking her eyes off Janeway's. "It will affect you most of all."

"I'm not worried about myself."

"Captain, I realize. This is why I am reminding you - what you do now will set a precedent. If the crew needs to feel confident and safe, you need to project that. What better way than to start to think about your own needs? They know you wouldn't do that unless they were all safe."

Janeway stared at her. It seemed the role of counselor wasn't so far in Deanna's past as all that. "Well. Perhaps I should have an idea of what might happen to them first? It's difficult to relax with the thought that my former Maquis might still be imprisoned the minute they step off the ship."

Troi turned introspective. "I wasn't worried about that," she said at last. "I don't believe there is a reason to be. They may not be able to be in Starfleet on your crew, but their service would certainly be taken into consideration. My concern is more that there will be difficulty finding a sense of purpose in the Alpha Quadrant, after so long a time merely subsisting and surviving. Some of your crew will have outdated skills. Some will be in demand."

"I'd thought of that -- though I suppose it's still early to really devote a lot of time and energy to these questions. We still have a long road home."

Troi picked up her cup again and seemed to contemplate it seriously. "What was it that you found most difficult about your time in the Delta Quadrant?"

It would have been easy to tease her about not being a counselor any more, or toss off a dismissive, glib one line response. Janeway paused for thought instead. 

"It was all difficult. For me, the most difficult times were the quiet moments."

A long silence, then. Janeway almost forgot her cup, and when she did remember the sip she took was cold. Troi went to the replicator and returned with a hot cup to exchange for the cold coffee.

"It's easy to distract yourself from the terror you feel at the possible outcomes of your decisions," Troi murmured, leaning against the desk rather than retreating behind it again. "Harder to sit still with yourself, when there is so much at stake and no easy solution."

"I could reverse the question -- ask you what was most difficult for you." Janeway smiled as she said it, thinking it would be dismissed.

"There was a point when I could see no way to save the ship. I couldn't understand how captains could make snap decisions that had such potential to turn wrong in a heartbeat -- and when I faced the imminent demise of myself and everyone on board, I understood that it was the easy thing to do. The hard thing was to make a decision when you considered possibilities, when death wasn't a definite outcome -- I've been trained to be personally responsible for others in so many ways. To ignore that and make decisions I thought would lead to death became no problem in the face of certain doom. But then we survived. I suppose that should have helped me gain confidence, but it hasn't. Possibilities will always be the most difficult to face."

"I suppose the possibility that your husband might die is among the worst?"

"It hasn't been an ongoing concern. I don't think he's likely to find a way to die."

Janeway raised her eyes from the coffee to find Troi staring at the fish in the tank - something Picard must have done many times himself. 

"That's not exactly rational."

"He's been brought back from death, or near-death, quite a number of times. As I have. So many of us throw ourselves in the face of death in Starfleet." The corner of Troi's mouth twisted, but she didn't look at Janeway. "You've never felt someone die. We lost so many. . . ." Troi's hand went to her chest, her eyes still focused somewhere outside the ship. "I know what it feels like, all the ways they die. Some people are frightened, others go with a burst of anger -- anger that they left things undone, regret not doing some things or having done others. Everything falls away and leaves you with yourself. The last breath feels like an eternity. The universe contracts around you. And that's only the ones who die slowly. . . . Sometimes, it's like a candle being snuffed. Like the whisper of your eyelids when you blink, and then the life you sensed, all the emotional chaos and color, slips silently into nothing."

It led to thoughts of the lost -- the crew she'd had to speak eulogies for, the ones she'd lost at the Caretaker's array and in so many incidents since then. The times she had nearly been killed herself, throughout her career -- Janeway closed her eyes and tried very hard not to think about being tortured. Phantom pain raced up her fingers and arms.

"They did that to him, too," Troi whispered. "Gul Madred tortured him in his dreams, for weeks after we recovered him from captivity. The Borg walked in his dreams longer, nanoprobes reconfiguring his body and the Collective whispering orders. The K'Korll.... I had to allow the doctor to tranquilize me, after a while. No way to function as his counselor when I had no rest or respite from his pain. No way to sleep when the horrors dance from his mind into yours. His pain made it difficult for me to function long before there were any thoughts of a relationship such as we have now."

Janeway stared hard at her, dismayed and upset with herself.

"It doesn't matter, Kathryn." Troi settled back slightly, crossing her arms, letting her gaze drop from the fish tank to her toes. "There really is nothing you can play out for me that I haven't already sensed, from other officers as well as from my own commanding officer."

She considered Troi's toes as well, then raised her eyes, and locked gazes with the Betazoid black on black, stared. Let out the breath she had held, in a short huff. "Indulge me in one more question?"

"Yes?" The corner of Troi's mouth rose slightly.

"He understands precisely what you go through? I don't mean in the abstract -- he knows you feel it all, in depth?"

Troi sighed, something Janeway saw rather than heard; the slight raising of the head, the slight movement of her chest. "We share a bond of unexpected depth, so he has some experience in sensing my own pains. He understands. He knows how well I can cope, however."

Janeway stared a few moments more, and slowly released the air she'd trapped in her lungs. "Okay."

Troi's eyebrow twitched again, as her subtle smile flattened. "Okay?"

"Yes. Okay. I think that I have received the message I was supposed to get."

The smile returned. "I'm happy to hear it. Perhaps someday you'll tell me what it was. Are you ready to go greet your crew?"

Coffee in hand, Janeway rose from the chair, smoothed the front of her uniform, and turned for the door. "Absolutely."


	9. Chapter 9

"No!"

Jean-Luc waited for Tom to start cursing again, but it seemed he was going to leave it at a flat denial for once. The ale was gone, most of the buzz they'd worked up had gone as well, and he had thought he would try again -- camaraderie had evaporated at once.

"Tom, she's not -- "

"Then why does she keep talking like one? You don't want her on your ship either, do you?" 

"I'm not suggesting that you keep her forever. I'm not even going to assume you will ever have her as crew. I don't think she'd put up with you, frankly."

"Ooooh, no, you don't get to play that game," Tom exclaimed, the grin more of a grimace. "Challenging me to do something impossible doesn't get anywhere, I don't care what the hell you think. No Borg. You weren't a career Borg, you were a five minute drone recovered before you were completely indoctrinated. That woman talks like there's nothing wrong with -- "

"She knows that's part of the problem. She needs help being human."

Tom was almost beyond his patience; he paced the length of his ready room and back to the desk, one hand on his head in his usual frustrated manner of dragging his own fingers through his short hair. "We aren't responsible for her. Let Janeway do it. She's the one who cut her out of the Collective."

"Janeway needs more help than her protege." Ah, wait. There was the angle. "Consider it a favor for her."

Tom crossed his arms and scowled at him. "She's not the one asking. What the hell is going on with you that you decided to keep her aboard?"

"I was asked to look out for her - remember Betazed?"

A sudden grin lit up Tom's face. "Yes, indeed. Any time you want to go back, just let me know. Best vacation I've had."

"I meant -- "

"I know, Janeway. Why don't you just let your wife take care of the Borg? She did a great job with you. Right?"

Picard teetered back and forth between anger at Tom for again dodging the suggestion, and anger that he hadn't thought of it himself. "Damn it, Tom!"

"Sorry, but you don't corner the market on brains. Even a knucklehead like me gets an idea once in a while."

"That's hardly what I meant." Picard sighed heavily, slumping in his chair. 

Tom dropped into his own, behind the desk. "Not long now, according to the padd you gave me. It'll be nice to see the kids again, I bet."

Picard snorted, closing his eyes, thinking of his wife. In his chest the hollow place made itself known. "Yes."

"Bridge to Captain Glendenning. We've arrived."

"Acknowledged." Tom was in motion even as he spoke. He leaped up but stopped alongside the desk. "I'll take Data and security with me."

"I'm going."

They stared at each other. Tom snorted. "How the hell do we resolve that -- double captain's prerogative?"

"We can't all go -- the nature of the situation requires a small away team."

Tom sighed. He'd read the same things Picard had, regarding this phase of the mission. "True. So you can go with Data, and security."

Picard hadn't expected this from him. He stared, unable to speak.

"What?" Tom exclaimed, shrugging. "Did you think I was going to arm-wrestle you for it?"

"No." Picard paused. Tilted his head. "You go. After sobering up -- surely you have something here?"

It got both Tom's eyebrows climbing. "This doesn't violate some instruction in the missive?" He opened a drawer and shoved things around. Producing a hypo, he applied it with practiced expertise to his own neck.

"It's not specific about who. Only what."

Tom chewed the inside of his cheek, put his hands on his hips, and sauntered out of the ready room. Picard sat long enough that he was reasonably certain Tom had picked officers and left the bridge, then left himself. He wandered down to his guest quarters but was too restless and kept walking. The corridor would loop back around again.

On the second time around the deck, he found himself picturing Deanna as he thought about what she would do in this situation, trying to deal with a former Borg. Or at least what she would want him to do. He knew what he wanted -- although Tom's suggestion had merit, he really didn't want Annika Hansen on the _Enterprise_ , either, though for different reasons than Tom.

He went inside at last, started some music, picked up the book he'd been trying so hard to read, and stood in the middle of the room facing the easy chair he'd been trying to read in. 

The mission shouldn't take long. He only had to tolerate an hour of waiting at the most. He should be able to distract himself. But feeling hollow and alone had worn him down. Tossing the book in the chair, he left again.

Lora was in school, and Phoebe had a habit of spending her days studying. That left Beverly, on duty but perhaps tolerant of his presence. When he arrived in sickbay she was nowhere to be seen. He found her office door open, leaned in, and cleared his throat.

Raising her eyes from the padd she held, Beverly came out of the chair and set the padd aside. "Jean-Luc," she exclaimed.

"Nothing's wrong. Nothing you can fix, anyway."

She stared at him for a moment but recovered from the shock quickly. "You aren't on the mission?"

"No. It doesn't take two captains to rescue people from a pre-warp civilization."

"Want some tea?"

And so he found himself discussing Lora's recent accomplishments over Earl Grey, deliberately avoiding anything to do with his ship, his family, or the emptiness that had nearly brought him to tears back in his quarters.

As he had predicted, not forty-five minutes later, sickbay got the page from the transporter room, and he followed the now-anxious Beverly to receive the bounty of patients Tom had brought with him. 

Fourteen _Voyager_ crew, including a child. The K'tarian hybrid, Naomi, he remembered from the descriptions of crew Janeway had provided. She had a fistful of Fidele's fur and skin, as if the dog were her lifeline. He stared at the dog. How the hell had he gotten here? Obviously, Deanna was on her way to meet them -- he couldn't contain the smile at the thought.

"This is Captain Picard, and that's Dr. Crusher," Tom announced to the group at large, pointing. He didn't sound like someone who had a large sharp broken blade sticking out of his shoulder. 

"Captain," Beverly ordered, pointing at a biobed. He smiled and strolled over to it obediently.

Picard sidled out of the way to watch his former chief medical officer go about the business of paging more of her staff and triaging the flood of potential patients. Since no one else was present to do it with Tom under the laser scalpel of one of the other doctors, he silently volunteered himself to talk to Naomi; she followed Fidele, who came to him, tongue out and giving a happy doggy smile.

"Good boy," Picard told the dog. "Hello, Naomi."

"How do you know my name?" the girl asked. She looked to be around six, though he knew K'tarians aged a little differently than humans. 

"Captain Janeway told me about you. I see you made friends with my dog, Fidele."

She petted the dog's shoulder, smiling. "He protected me from the aliens, until Captain Glendenning came, and then he protected him too."

"He's a good dog. Is your mother here too?"

Naomi lost the smile and looked across sickbay at the blonde woman laying on a bed next to Glendenning's. Judging from her stillness as three medical staff worked on her, Lieutenant Wildman was not conscious. Beverly was still running triage but more of the group appeared to be judged fit than not; the onlookers standing around either side of the door outnumbered those assigned to biobeds. 

"Mom wasn't feeling too good," Naomi said. "They hurt her four days ago."

Data arrived, smiled at Picard, and started assigning quarters beginning with those nearest the door. The android sent person after person from the room, and when he came over and smiled down at Naomi, she returned it. "Miss Wildman. You and your mother will be on deck nine, cabin 6-4."

"Mr. Data is the first officer," Picard explained. "Almost like a captain's assistant."

Naomi beamed at him. Data cocked his head to the left, but said nothing about it, proving he'd come a long, long way. "Doctor?"

It snagged Beverly's attention as she crossed sickbay behind them, and she came to attention. "Sir?"

"How long will Lieutenant Wildman be detained in sickbay? This is her daughter, Naomi."

Beverly cast a sympathetic look at Naomi. "I doubt she will be released before some time tomorrow. It's not that she is in any danger, but we'd like to keep her until we're sure she's well on her way to recovery."

"Then perhaps we need a different accommodation for Miss Wildman." Data looked again at the child.

Beverly glanced at Data, at Picard, and smiled at the girl. "I think you would enjoy spending some time with Lora -- she's a bit older than you, but she'd love to have a slumber party. But since she's still in school and won't get out until later, why don't you spend some time with Captain Picard for now?"

Picard almost blurted out a protest, but Naomi's grin stopped him cold. "I was just thinking about ice cream," he said, deciding that a distraction that worked for all four of his children might work here. "Do you know how many flavors there are in the replicator?"

"That sounds like a research project," Naomi said, surprising him. 

Fidele, who'd been sitting quietly at Picard's left heel, stood up and barked once as if concurring.

"I'll come find you later, when school is out," Beverly said. 

"How's Tom?"

Picard's question sent a fleeting pained expression across Beverly's face. "He'll be back on duty by morning. I honestly don't understand how the man manages to -- " She cut her complaint short, glancing at the child, and sighed. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you wanted to use his private dining room for your experiment."

"What's your favorite flavor?" Naomi asked as he turned to go. Data nodded at him, and moved on to talk to Beverly, walking with her toward her office.

"That changes a lot. Usually it's the one I have in front of me."

"Captain Glendenning didn't even scream when they hurt him," Naomi said. 

Not reacting to a non sequitur was a practiced tactic. "You are six?"

"Five and eight months," Naomi replied. 

"Ah. My mistake."

"How old are you?" Precocious as she seemed, it was quite obvious that a six year old was a six year old. 

"I was six years old approximately seventy-eight years ago."

Naomi frowned. "You're trying to get me to do math, aren't you?"

"Is it working?" As they approached the lift, Fidele trotting along behind them, he felt Naomi's fingers grip his own, and smiled. "So what does a captain's assistant do, exactly? We don't have one aboard the _Enterprise_."

"Special projects. It's a lot of work."

"Deck two." They turned to face the doors automatically, and Fidele sat in front of him, almost on his toes. "Captain Janeway must have had a lot of projects for you. I know she's a good researcher."

"Is she okay?" 

Picard considered for a moment how many people this child likely had in her life, and how many of those people were now far away and unable to communicate with her. "I am certain that she is. She's with my crew, on the _Enterprise_ , and while she was hurt when I saw her last, I know that she must be better by now."

"What about Mr. Neelix? Or Mr. Paris? I know Mr. Tuvok will be okay. He was hurt too, but not as bad as my mom. What about Seven of Nine?"

"I'm not certain about the others, but Seven of Nine is aboard this ship, and she's well. If you'd like to visit with her, I can drop you off on deck seven, at her quarters."

Naomi gripped his fingers tighter and grinned up at him. "That's okay, I can see her later. I don't think she likes ice cream. "

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Janeway spent several hours feeling light-headed, as she talked to each of her rescued crew for at least a few minutes apiece. It took a while -- some were in sickbay and would stay there, others were assigned guest quarters on decks five and six, and she had a lot of walking to do to see all of them. Troi had produced a padd with a list of names and quarters assigned fairly early on, facilitating the process, and by the end of the journey Janeway felt numb. The injuries, the illnesses and the experiences recounted -- her people had been through a lot. 

She found, by querying the computer, a small briefing room on deck three and appropriated it. Though she thought she might want to nap soon, as her body was dragging despite the second round of coffee, making known that she still had some recovering to do, she wanted to assemble the handful of senior officers she had at her disposal for a check-in. Tuvok was still gone, as was B'Elanna, but she had Paris and Kim. And Chakotay. 

They responded to her summons one by one, and she felt no small relief that her first officer was the first to arrive. He came to her, hesitating for a moment, and smiled. Then he took a step and wrapped his arms around her.

She couldn't remember the last time someone had hugged her. Just the physical contact was enough to overwhelm her. She responded in kind, trying to give as good as she got, but Chakotay was a big bear of a man, as always. 

They pulled apart and he gripped her arms briefly as he backed away, slowly. "It's good to see you," he murmured, as if afraid of being overheard. 

She took a moment to study him; he'd lost a little weight, added a little more gray to his short hair, and she suspected he might have had a beard recently. "It's wonderful to see you -- I've missed you."

The smile was joined by raised eyebrows, and he took a step -- whatever he might have done didn't happen, thanks to the doors opening to admit Harry Kim. He too had changed, lost some weight, but the grin took years off him. "Captain!"

"It's good to see you, Harry."

Paris was just a few seconds behind Kim. He'd shaved off the beard, and had an ear-to-ear grin. "I just talked to Commander Troi on the way up here," he exclaimed. "She said we're about to go find _Voyager_. I guess they're closer than we thought they were?"

Janeway put her hands on her hips. "There will be a lot of work to do. And we'll have two Sovereign class vessels and their crews to help us do it."

"Two?" Chakotay sat down at the long, oval table. 

"Coffee, anyone?" Janeway strode to the replicator. "Four coffees, three with cream and sugar, one cup of Janeway one."

Kim and Paris laughed at it, exchanging glances as she brought the cups two by two and served them. "Janeway one?" Kim echoed.

"A special brew. So -- has anyone heard from any of our other missing crew?"

"Unfortunately, no. I was hoping you had more good news," Chakotay said. 

"Plenty of good news, but not about Neelix, or Tuvok, or any of the rest of our missing. And yes, there are two of these out here -- Captain Glendenning's is supposed to meet us." She decided not to indulge in mind-bending conversations about how she knew this. "Seven is already aboard the _Venture_. We'll see her again soon."

"It will be good to be home," Paris said, the yearning audible in his voice.

Janeway didn't respond -- she realized she was not quite as desperate as her helm officer, and it took a moment of guilty, anxious reflection to understand-- now that she knew enough about eventual outcomes to calm her anxiety about getting her ship and crew home, now that it was more certain, she'd started to feel like part of a new family. One that included smiling little Picards.

"Yes," she said. Chakotay gave her a look that suggested he might be asking about her change in mood soon.


	10. Chapter 10

After Beverly had collected Naomi and taken her off to introduce her to her next babysitter, Picard arrived at his assigned quarters and found Annika Hansen standing there at the door, a padd in hand.

"Your crewmates should be getting out of sickbay shortly," he told her, sidling into the door.

"Sir," she exclaimed. "I would like to speak with you."

"Come in, then." He had the feeling he would regret it, but the trend of masochism continued.

She followed him in, obviously ready to get the answers she required. She stood in the middle of the room, watching him go to the replicator. "I have been spending considerable time with Phoebe."

"Good for you. Tea, Earl Grey, hot." Picard watched the cup materialize and picked it up. 

"I am confused by her continued endeavors to emulate humanity."

"Why would that confuse you?"

"Because she is not human. Why would she wish to pretend to be something she is not?"

"Did you ask her?" Picard sat on the sofa this time, sipping his tea. Wincing, he got up again and returned it to the replicator. He hadn't yet trained this ship's computer to make his tea the way he liked it.

"I did not know if that would be appropriate. I have observed that sometimes intrusive questions are met with resistance."

"Computer, Earl Grey, hot, decrease the bitterness."

"Specify."

"Decrease bitterness by. . . four percent." The computer chirped and another cup materialized. He tried it and put it back, watching it dematerialize. "Decrease it again, two percent."

The third cup was acceptable. He turned to find the woman watching him. "You approach everything like a Borg, analyze and seek answers. Sometimes we don't get answers to questions. Phoebe's motives are her own. You can ask, and she will likely tell you unless she feels it's personal."

"How am I to learn if I do not have answers?"

"How is knowing why an android wants to be human going to inform your own quest for the same?" 

She gaped at him. "The pursuit of knowledge -- "

"A human trait, yes, but not one without rules. Borg discriminate for different reasons, based on relevance. Humans do that too, but relationships are not science."

"I have been told this before. I am aware that there are many factors -- "

Picard waved dismissively at her and sat down again. She stopped mid-sentence, confusion all over her face, her hands still clasped behind her back as if she'd been reciting her lessons in a class. 

"One, you talk like a scientist. No one likes to be treated like a project. Two, you can't seem to break out of the habit of approaching everything as if acquiring information for the Collective."

"Everyone tells me to be myself." She took a few steps toward him, the silver-gray body suit she wore shimmering as it flexed. 

"It's up to you to decide what that self should be like. I'm sure they told you that as well. The trouble is, this is not a binary choice to make. But you know that you do not have to be a Borg."

"I wish to be essentially as I am."

"Only not lonely?"

She regarded him with a surprised, pleased expression that told him he had just ensured he wouldn't be getting rid of her soon. "You understand."

"Loneliness is a universal condition. There isn't a human alive who has never been lonely. It was an easy guess."

"Easy." She wasn't asking, but didn't sound as though she believed him.

"I've been a starship captain long enough to see a lot of lonely people. Adjusting to life on a starship can be more difficult than a lot of people expect." He sipped tea, noting it was cooling too fast. "Some people distract themselves from it by focusing on duty. Some take up hobbies, with exhausting intensity. Some let themselves become depressed. You seem to be using your quest for humanity as a focus for your energies."

"Perhaps I am," she replied solemnly.

"The problem is that you focus on the larger goal and treat it like a mission. You don't need to do anything but live your life, Annika. I'm sorry you don't like that answer but it's the best anyone can give you."

She stared at him with renewed consternation. "I have been attempting -- "

"No, you haven't. Your name is Annika Hansen. You choose, every day, to answer to a Borg designation. Each time you answer to Seven of Nine, you choose to identify yourself as Borg. You choose to speak as if every conversation is a formal presentation of the facts rather than developing a more colloquial, informal manner to use with friends. You are choosing to behave in ways that do not facilitate connections with humans. You don't like feelings -- they're irrelevant to you." Picard eyed the lukewarm cup of tea, rose, and faced her. "Your thinking and your perspective are what flavors each interaction and the end result is that others view you as Borg -- you know, at least intellectually, that this is creating a barrier between you and the people around you."

"I was given to understand that the Federation embraced many different cultures, without interference or judgment."

Picard had to contain the surge of ire, almost checked himself -- but perhaps this anger was what no one had yet expressed. No, he doubted that; surely someone along the way had said as much. But this might be the right time to do it again, this time from the perspective of someone who remembered being assimilated. 

"The Borg tore me apart," he exclaimed, letting the volume rise slightly. He found himself on his feet before he realized it, kept himself from stalking toward her, but put down his tea so he wouldn't drop or spill it. "They did not bother to do anything about the pain of assimilation. My pain was irrelevant to them. They tortured me, forced me to attack my own ship, while all the while I fought to regain control. Thousands of us lost family and friends to the Borg. And here you are demanding that I not only tolerate but accept you as crew -- you, a reminder of the inhumanity and cruelty of a species that is not a species at all but a collection of many species enslaved to a goal that is impossible to reach. Do you know how your continued identification as a Borg, your behavior, triggers the trauma caused by the Collective? Or are you as callous as the Collective, and think that's irrelevant?"

She stared, wide-eyed, for the first time truly shocked speechless. In hindsight, perhaps he shouldn't have allowed himself to raise his voice.

"I know better than to accuse or become angry with you, as others surely have, for the transgressions of the Collective. I know you are not personally responsible for the deaths of millions. Fortunately my experience has been dealt with - I received intervention, and my own reaction is minimal, these days. The rest of the Federation - no, Annika Hansen, you do not have any idea how many will recoil in fear, anger or hatred, rather than attempt to understand that you are a unique individual. Your attitude is a wall, reinforced each time you fail to care about the reason others react as they do in your presence. Your lack of empathy is more than obvious. You think you are an individual, as you are, and that is correct -- it is your choice, still, no matter how anyone else feels. But your goal of being accepted by humans is incompatible with your flaunting of Borg arrogance. You are deciding to be unapproachable."

For the first time since their dialogue started, she had no response. She finally found the words to question, after long moments of staring in shock. "I recognized that some are angry when they see me. I was not aware -- " She considered it for a few long moments. "You are saying that to have more intimate relationships with others, to make friends in the Federation, I must be... small."

"Again -- that is a Borg thought. I assure you that as a human, you can be large as you wish." He smiled, thinking back to his youthful dreams of adventures and success in Starfleet. How small those had been, even though at the time they had seemed large. "Or you may have an open mind, and seek to be large, and discover that your initial goals were smaller than you believed they were. From my perspective, the Borg's narrow, linear way of thinking is small -- there is no room for passion, no choice of what you want to do, or be. There's no acceptance of impulsive, irrational behavior that can give us so much joy. You -- right now -- you are small. Closed to the possibility that you can be human. If you had the slightest idea of how happy and fulfilling life can be as a human, you would have shed what remains of Seven of Nine in an instant."

Annika Hansen stared, and continued to do so until the chirp of his communicator interrupted. 

"Do I need to tell you?" Tom said, ignoring protocol.

Picard realized that he was indeed feeling much, much better than he had been since the outset of this adventure. They had finally synchronized chronologically with the _Enterprise_. Almost home. "No. Have we found _Voyager_ as well?"

"Not yet. But I've been told that we will do so on time."

"I shall be taking my leave of you for the moment, then."

"The transporter awaits. I'm sure there will be dinner, yes?"

"Indeed. And wine to go with it."

\---------------------------

Janeway left the briefing room with Chakotay, Paris and Kim in tow. "We should be on our way shortly."

"Why can't they just take us home?" Harry asked.

"There are reasons." That she didn't know what all of them were just yet mattered little. She was certain Picard would have been more forthcoming if he could be.

"It's weird to be on a different ship," Paris remarked, as several lieutenants went by. "Seeing Starfleet officers we don't know."

"Commander Troi said we'd be able to get all the way home," Harry said, sounding happier and more confident than ever. "I can't wait to be in San Francisco again."

"It'll be good to see B'Elanna again." Paris sounded wistful but matter-of-fact. Janeway spent a few moments trying to sort out just how long he had been apart from his wife, but between the jumps forward and back in time she'd lost track.

"Captain?" Harry's earnest concern slowed their forward progress as Paris took note and hesitated as well.

"I was just trying to think -- how long it's been. I can't even remember the last time I saw Tuvok. Or Kes."

"Yeah, time travel," Paris said sympathetically. "You left us there about a month ago. Tuvok left with a shuttle full of people a couple weeks before that. But I guess it's been longer than that for you since you've been riding around through time?"

"That means. . . somewhere, I'm struggling through a second week of trying to understand Iconian."

"Then I guess you'll have to keep a low profile," Chakotay said. 

They reached the end of the corridor and turned right, heading for the lift, when the lift doors opened and Yves ran out. "There you are!"

Janeway found herself smiling right along with him -- the morose boy she'd offended on the holodeck had vanished. "Yes, here I am. And this is Lieutenant Kim and Lieutenant Paris, and Commander Chakotay."

Yves glanced from one officer to the other, his smile turning to a full grin. "Nice to meet you."

"The officers are getting younger all the time," Paris exclaimed with a grin.

"This is Yves Picard. He's been playing host in his father's absence."

"That's what I was coming to tell you," Yves blurted, oblivious to the shock of Janeway's companions. "Papa's back! He brought Fidele back with him!"

"I'm glad to hear they're both okay."

"Papa wants to talk to you. Come on!" Yves spun and darted for the lift, then held the door for them.

"You heard the man." Janeway tucked her arms through those of her lieutenants and led them forward, Chakotay following along. In the lift, Yves leaned against the wall and grinned up at them.

"So your dad's a starship captain," Paris said. "What's your mom do?"

"She's the first officer."

"Oh," Paris said, clearly at a loss. "Okay."

"It's kind of different, I know." 

Janeway noticed Chakotay's sidelong glance at her, and kept her focus on the boy. "By which you mean, unique."

"How old are you?" Harry asked.

"Eleven." Yves seemed as permanently happy as he'd seemed permanently upset. "Are you still at ops?"

Harry grinned, uneasy. "Still, yeah. You know a lot about us."

"Papa and Maman talked about _Voyager_ before. It's in the news still, sometimes."

"I think we shouldn't ask any more questions," Janeway said softly. "What do you know about the Temporal Prime Directive, Yves?"

He lost some of the grin. "Oops."

"Not really, but close."

He bounced out of the lift on deck seven instead of deck eight as Janeway expected, and led them to a door labeled 'briefing room seven.' The marvel of a ship large enough to have seven briefing rooms wasn't lost on Paris and Kim, who exchanged glances. Inside, the three of them froze at the sight of Captain Picard talking to Naomi Wildman.

Naomi saw them, ran across the room, and was all smiles as she stood on tiptoe to hug Janeway. "Hi Captain! I came over with Captain Picard and Fidele."

"We're looking at _Voyager_ ," Yves said, heading for the bank of viewports. Fidele already stood there, front paws propped on the bottom edge, panting as he looked out.

"Hello, Kathryn. You're looking better than the last time I saw you," Picard said, following Naomi over. "As Yves mentioned, we found your ship at last."

"Tom, Harry, this is Captain Picard. Lieutenants Harry Kim and Tom Paris, my ops and helm officers. And my first officer, Chakotay."

"Sir," Paris said with awe. "It's an honor."

"I've read a lot about you, sir," Harry said.

Picard's smile dwindled slightly but his reply was lighthearted. "Would you like something to drink? The replicator's open all night."

"I'll go, what do you want, Tom? Captain?" Harry took their requests for water and tea with him to the far end of the room.

"Sir," Paris said again. His mouth opened and closed, then opened again before he could get the question out. "My father -- "

"Sent a message. You can access it from the computer any time. He's quite aware of the situation. Starfleet gave us some leeway in this matter. They do want _Voyager_ home, still." He glanced at Kim, and smiled at Chakotay. "In fact, there are messages for most of you."

Yves crossed to his father in three bounds. "Papa, are we going to see Lora?"

"She'll probably come over with Tom and Beverly a bit later. Where are your siblings?"

Yves thought for a moment. "Amy's somewhere having a tantrum. Cordy and Pierre are taking a bath."

"I think I could have guessed Amy was having a tantrum," Picard said, smiling, clearly drawing on a family joke.

"Amy has strongly held opinions, that's all. A trait common to many Starfleet commanding officers." Janeway shared a grin with Yves. 

"Amy gets mad if you breathe wrong," Yves exclaimed.

"I thought you were looking at _Voyager_ ," Picard said. What a practiced hand at redirection, Janeway thought. The casual comment didn't sound forced at all. 

"There's the other one," Naomi shouted, jumping in place in front of the viewport. "The _Venture_." It was enough to bring everyone over to look. The larger vessel, easily twice as big as the battered Intrepid class, slowly maneuvered over it, lining up nose to nose. Establishing an umbilical connection, Janeway realized. 

"Easier to transfer power with a physical connection," Picard commented, as if reading her mind. "We'll be in a high orbit and sending in crews and equipment with the transporter."

"I wish we could simply return with you. It would be easier to make it home with two battleships as escort." Janeway thought wistfully of how it might have minimized conflicts, to have enough firepower to intimidate.

"How did they get here, anyway?" Harry asked. "Unless that violates the TPD?"

Janeway stopped and thought about it, almost forgetting the cup in her hand until she let it tip and spill a little on her hand. "Time travel, and a wormhole. A lot of travel at high warp." She shot a look at Picard, as if inviting him into the conversation.

"That sums it up neatly. I believe a number of things went awry, but so far, it's mostly going according to plan. The dog coming to help was not expected."

"Are we going to hear about what happened?" Yves asked. "What did Fidele do?"

"I'm going to let Tom tell you. I'm sure he'll tell a much better story than I would -- I wasn't actually there."

"Torres to Janeway," came a hail from Janeway's badge. Paris' entire body snapped around at the sound. 

"Janeway here. Nice to hear you again, B'Elanna. Is everyone all right?"

"Yes, everyone here is fine. Is Tom -- "

"I'm right here," Paris called out. "I'm coming -- may I go -- "

"Yes, Tom, you can go see your wife." Janeway watched him charge for the door. "I'll expect a report from you on what's been going on in my absence, Lieutenant Torres, but take your time. I think we have plenty of time now."

"And since we do have the time, invite your senior officers for dinner, in an hour," Picard said. 

"Did you hear that, B'Elanna?"

"Yes, ma'am. Does that include the doctor?"

"If he's able. Have you been able to repair his mobile emitter?"

"Now that we'll have more power I can manage."

"Good. Bring the senior staff to the _Enterprise_ in an hour, then. Naomi is here as well so bring Miral and she can mind her for you. Janeway out."

"Is Uncle Tom coming?" Yves asked, eyes bright.

Picard smiled regretfully at his son. "You aren't going to be at the dinner, I'm afraid. Why don't you take Naomi and some of your friends to the holodeck?"

Yves looked forlorn, glanced at the ships against the backdrop of space, and cheered himself a bit as he turned to Naomi. She didn't even wait to be asked. "Let's go!" Fidele added a bark to Naomi's encouragement.

"Dress uniforms, Captain?" Harry asked. 

"Yes, Harry. And I'm sure you're equally anxious to go see how your friends are."

Harry smiled and followed in the footsteps of the departing children, sidling out the door as it opened to admit Commander Troi. 

Janeway wasn't sure what to expect. Surely not excessively passionate public displays of affection, but given how much his absence had impacted her, certainly Troi would be enthusiastic.

But Troi greeted Chakotay politely, not sparing a glance for her husband. Who, Janeway noticed, was not paying any attention to her, either. Curious. Chakotay picked up on her confusion and concern, looking at each of them warily to figure out what was going on.

Chakotay finally turned to Picard. "Thank you, Captain. I'm told you were the reason we're all alive."

"You rescued me from a rather difficult diplomatic mission, actually. Which reminds me -- "

"I left it open-ended," Troi said, not even waiting for the question. "The Klane will be expecting us to return. Surprisingly when I told them I would be traveling to retrieve lost officers, it impressed them. Rescue is not something many Alliance species experience."

Janeway smiled tentatively at Troi. "The commander has been a gracious hostess. She even put up with me on your bridge some of the time."

"I'm sure the withdrawals can't have been pleasant to watch," Chakotay said dryly. 

"I put her in one of the ambassadorial suites, with a coffee maker." Troi returned Janeway's smile, still pointedly not looking at Picard, who stood three paces away with his back turned to her.

"Wow." Chakotay didn't seem to be faking his surprise. "I'm surprised you were able to break her out of a standard orbit around that coffee maker."

"It's good to have you back, Captain," Troi said warmly -- finally addressing her own CO. She even glanced at his back, her gaze bouncing from him to the _Voyager_ crew again. "Your bridge crew missed you."

"Just the bridge crew?" Picard returned, an eyebrow rising. He appeared to be trying not to smile.

"I didn't conduct a complete survey of the lower decks, but I'm sure the crewman counting stem bolts and lengths of EPS conduit on deck twenty-two was equally bereft."

"Yves missed you," Janeway put in. A pause, and decidedly an uncomfortable one, ensued. She glanced at Troi in surprise.

"Yves is our son, Commander Chakotay," Troi said, addressing the surprised expression on Chakotay's face, though not the real reason for it. Janeway thought he must have finally recognized the unconventional roundabout welcome home -- it certainly startled her. "Your captain spent quite a few hours helping him with his math and other projects. Captain, you've understandably mixed the personal with the professional and disrupted our ritual homecoming procedure."

Picard chuckled. "Yes, it's all by the book -- the greeting, the lighthearted banter and teasing the captain as only a seasoned senior officer can manage, followed by the damage reports, crew reports and all the wonderful paperwork that managed to be completed in my absence."

"And then alpha shift ends. Once off duty we run naked through the corridors toward our rooms." Troi's smile twisted and her tone became discernably sarcastic.

Janeway's mouth dropped open, as did Chakotay's. Chakotay stared at each of their hosts in turn, and sidled closer to Janeway as if seeking reassurance. "Have we. . . managed to slip into some sort of alternate reality?"

"No, Chakotay, I'm fairly certain they're from ours. I'm also certain they're joking."

"I have been accused of that, yes." Picard was watching the _Venture_ again. The two ships were connected now, and the larger was firing maneuvering thrusters to stop the slow drift and spin of a ship dead in space. "Please forgive the sarcasm -- past accusations of impropriety clearly traumatized my first officer more than they have me."

"So, you're, married," Chakotay half-stammered; they could hear the comma after each word. It was, perhaps, more awkward for him now that he had been confronted by the two of them exhibiting such un-couple-like behavior.

"Twelve years." Troi had turned toward the viewports as well, but remained several paces distant from her husband. "More adventures than one could imagine in those few years at the Academy, where you're reading the old declassified hijinks of starship captains and thinking about all the things you would have done better."

"Rescuing each other from alien possession is my least favorite," Picard commented, crossing his arms. 

"I'm also not fond of spatial anomalies that put us in endless loops repeating the same events over and over."

Picard frowned. "I believe you've said that before. . . ."

Troi ignored the bait. "Nor am I fond of shape shifters, lusty grabby ambassadors, or time travel."

"We haven't had a grabby ambassador in a while. Lately it's been hostile and seething."

"Twelve years," Chakotay echoed, finally processing the concept to the point that he smiled at Janeway. Unaccountably, her heart skipped a beat. She'd have to give it a good stern talking-to, when she had a chance.

She turned to ask Picard about his adventures since she'd last seen him, but she was distracted -- Troi turned toward her husband and raised her eyes to tentatively look directly at him. 

Picard did the same, looked her in the eye, and suddenly they were the only people in the universe, their eyes locked together. Janeway was certain there must be something telepathic going on, was about to leave, getting so far as grabbing Chakotay's arm to drag him out with her, when the moment passed and Troi moved behind Picard, angling toward the door.

"If you will come with me, Commander Chakotay, I can show you to your quarters before I go dress for dinner."

"Where, did you decide?" Picard said. He didn't turn around. "Ten Forward?"

"Yes, it should be adequate for the combined senior staff of three starships, I thought. I have staff making preparations." Troi hesitated at the door looking back at them, waiting as Chakotay caught up with her, and the two left the room.

"Kathryn," Picard said softly.

She sighed, crossed her arms, belatedly noticing that she was mirroring him, and met his gaze. "Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"Relax. You're making me look like less of a martinet with every passing second."

She shook her head, trying not to laugh. A dry sort of chuckle was the result. She tried to relax -- he was right, she'd gone rigid. "I'm sorry, I -- wasn't expecting -- that."

And now he was surprised. He laughed, shaking his head. "I suppose it was a bit different."

"Not what I would have thought it would be, after I spent the past weeks with your family seeing how much she missed you."

His amusement dwindled quite a bit. After considering for a few moments, he said, "It was difficult for her. As it was for me. Too long apart, too far out of sync in time. If we had had a few moments in private it would have been less awkward, but we rarely do when one of us returns."

Janeway thought about the mysterious bond that the doctor and counselor had mentioned, and Deanna had confirmed, and nodded. "I would suppose, given the evidence, that you have a very.... healthy relationship."

He backed away, heading for the replicator, empty cup in hand, and it took a few moments for her to recognize that he was embarrassed. Before she could attempt apology he returned, but looked out the viewport instead of at her.

"What you said before," she began. She'd composed a coherent response complete with apology, to follow up with him, to let him know she understood now what he'd been trying to tell her, but the words had disappeared.

He continued to stare at the _Venture_ and appeared to be thinking.

"It wasn't what you wanted to do, was it? Trying to approach me about fraternization when it's the last thing you want to discuss. You had to know -- you said you were doing as I asked you to. And I wasn't getting the message, because I was so angry."

"I noticed." The wry smile twisted his lips, his eyes half-lidded.

"You were willing to give up your career for her. Because you knew that was the risk -- you made that decision before it all started."

His eyes closed, he now seemed to be thinking hard.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't listening. If I had known what I was saying -- what I was demeaning, before, I would have understood. But that would be why you left me with Deanna, to teach me."

"No -- I left you with Deanna so you could recuperate. She's quite good at convincing the obsessed captain to stop and relax. If I'd taken you later, events in our own timeline would have been altered. Had I taken you when I left, you would have been in sickbay on _Venture_ wearing yourself out trying to escape and help your crew." He turned to her again finally, looking her in the eye. "It sounds like you enjoyed your time with the children."

"Oh, yes, I have very much enjoyed getting to know your children," she said, smiling. "Yves in particular. He's a charming young man already."

Picard smiled proudly. "A credit to both of us. Dee worries about him more than she'd like to admit."

"More than she should. I think he'll do very well."

"I know that he will. He's already much smarter than I was."

"Oh -- " Self deprecation somehow wasn't what she expected. 

He looked at her with a neutral expression, clearly thinking about something. "I hope you don't think badly of us for the interference."

"I'm trying to understand why you would do it. If it alters the future somehow, that I refuse.... We talked about fraternization a number of times, Chakotay and I. Not between us -- it appeared we might have to be a generational ship. I wasn't opposed to it, myself."

"Only in the case of the captain." He crossed his arms again.

"Yes." It was a relief to be so quickly understood. "It was difficult enough just to get to the point of making friends with the crew."

"But that became easier," Picard said quietly. "Even though you had to watch them go into harm's way, to order them into danger -- then sometimes, you had to rescue them. Because they are your officers? Because they are good friends? Because they are comrades in arms? All of the above, I think. We don't leave our crew to die, if it can be helped. And then they start to do it for you. Disobey orders to help you out of some mission gone awry."

He'd hinted at this before. She felt the rise and fall of protest -- part of her still didn't want to take the last step, to accepting that a more intimate relationship could be possible for her. But it was harder now to sustain the resistance to the idea. She thought about the near-mutiny that had persuaded Tuvok to disobey orders, contact the Vidiians, and return to New Earth -- the joy expressed by individual crew members upon her return to the ship had surprised her. Despite her knowing that she had friendships, some of them close, with many of the crew, she hadn't expected such a reaction.

Picard continued, and it became obvious to her at last that this captain, whose long career had built him a reputation for being principled, rational and deliberate, was still holding true to his reputation. "If at some point your officers become aware of your moods -- if you are actually suffering from your solitary state, wanting something more but hesitating out of concern for maintaining your distance, to command a ship and crew more effectively -- how does that affect them, given their concern for your well being?"

That wasn't what she expected. She dropped her gaze, feeling more than thinking about the idea.

"It isn't the most crucial consideration, but it should be part of the equation. Going to card games or joining friends on the holodeck becomes difficult, if the atmosphere becomes less friendly due to the strain of maintaining appearances, so back to being isolated. Or attending anyway, and being questioned. My android first officer started to make suggestions, tried to pull me out of my shell, and the conflict began -- should I retire, or just ignore loneliness? If an android noticed the changes in me, how obvious is it to the rest of my staff that I'm having difficulty? How does a captain's mood, his emotional well being, affect the morale of crew, especially the ones he considers friends?"

"I hadn't thought anyone paid any attention to -- you're saying they would know if the captain developed -- feelings, for one of the crew."

Picard snorted. "If they noticed the instant things changed, it seems logical that they must have been paying attention prior -- the adjustment period was more for me, realizing that what the senior officers were experiencing was relief, and being happy that everything changed for the better for me. If I were to pull statistics on efficiency and performance after, you'd see an improvement. Because my performance improved."

Of course the captain's demeanor influenced morale -- of course she had known that. But it drove home to her that she hadn't been so mindful of it sometimes, that there had been periods of distress and angst -- the long dark time she'd spent hiding in her quarters for one. The most recent time being just before deciding to send the crew out in groups, to find supplies and parts, to find anything that could get _Voyager_ back on course, moving, at whatever speed they could manage. Anything but the hopeless drifting in open space. It was as though her mood had been in sync with her vessel's brokenness. Looking back on it now, thinking that it must have made a bad situation worse for her crew, led to guilt. 

They stood in silence for a while, and his expression seemed to indicate they were both rambling in darker memories. She thought about everything else since he'd walked into that cell and given her hope and smiled.

"It's been easier, since you gave me the reassurance that we'll be able to get _Voyager_ home. It let me rest for a while. I know it'll be a long trip home yet, but --"

The doors opened behind them, and Kathryn glanced back to see that Troi had returned. She halted just inside the door and put her hands behind her back, but said nothing.

"What did I do now?" Picard asked, hanging his head a little. There definitely had to be some telepathy going on, Janeway thought. He hadn't even glanced back to see who it was, nor did his question make any sense otherwise.

"I just took your son to sickbay, to give him some peace and quiet -- resorting to inhibitor will hopefully not happen so much later, after he adjusts and hopefully learns to shield and ignore what he senses. Which you've given him plenty of motivation to do."

Picard swayed forward, his forehead striking the viewport with a quiet but audible thump. "Oh. I forgot."

"What did you expect me to say?" Troi advanced and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Are there other things I should scold you for, other than wandering through the past yet again?"

"I could come up with something." He half-turned, pointedly staring at the floor, or Janeway's boots. Leaning toward his wife, Janeway thought, as if pulled by gravity.

"You left me lonely for too long, for one. You upset your guest." Troi smiled at Janeway as she leaned on Picard, rubbing his back. "Yves loves her, too."

"I should go talk to him." His arms still crossed tightly across his chest, he faced her with a chagrined smile that shifted as his eyes met hers. Instead of backing away, she put her hand on his arm. Janeway braced herself, but the silent charged exchange didn't happen again. 

Troi turned to Janeway then. "I put Chakotay in quarters two doors down from you. I hope that's okay."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Janeway checked herself, and sighed. "Deanna, are you also acting on a request from me?"

"Not at all. The conversation you will have with my husband didn't include me. He told me a few things, but in summary. In the past, I was always careful to ignore what I sensed, even with close friends -- that changed for me as I learned to negotiate for myself how to select what I respond to. Perhaps you are reading that response differently? All I have done is try to be a friend." 

"So, like what you did with the coffee -- is it so obvious?" she murmured.

Troi's eyes were saying she was sympathetic, and her smile affirmed it. "You mean, does your crew know? Kim and Paris appear to. I haven't asked anyone directly, but what I'm sensing would be consistent enough that I can guess. After the shock of hearing about myself and Jean-Luc, I could best describe their feelings as happiness, and hope. At least on Mr. Paris' part, I doubt that was related to any personal concern."

Now Janeway was the one scrambling for composure -- she quashed the surprise and embarrassment as quickly as she could, certain she must be blushing. "How many breaches of telepath's ethics did you just commit in that sentence?"

Troi's right dimple appeared, as her smile deepened and she cocked her head saucily. "None. I'm not using telepathy. And I'm sure if you were looking for it, you might have deduced as much yourself -- reading micro-expressions, or 'tells,' isn't so hard for humans."

"I'm not sure at this point whether to thank the two of you or not."

"You're welcome. Perhaps you should both change for the party?" Troi asked.

"Are you going to help me?" Picard's tone was innocuous but the words alone were enough to send Janeway toward the door.

"I'll see you there," Janeway threw back over her shoulder as the doors closed behind her. She heard a few seconds of a chuckle from Troi before the door shut completely.

It took her nearly half an hour to calm down, change uniforms, and do her hair. She was in the living area headed for the door when the annunciator stopped her in her tracks. When she gave permission the door opened to reveal Chakotay.

"How fair is it that the new dress uniform looks better on you?" she exclaimed.

"I could argue the point, but I'm here to escort you to the dinner."

Janeway stared at him, waiting for words to come. He took the initiative to step inside and let the door slide shut.

"I have a question, before we go," she said.

"Does it have anything to do with fraternization?"

Janeway took a step backward. "Nothing in your records said anything about telepathy."

He laughed at her faux concern. "It's just the topic of the hour. Just about every one of our crew has hunted me down to talk to me about Picard and Troi. Someone in Picard's crew told some of them, and they told the rest, and most of them took it upon themselves to inform me, or to process the trauma of it all - if this is a sample of how the crew's going to react to every new change, we're in for it."

This was as Picard had said -- he'd warned her, though she doubted he had known her own crew was so aware of her that fraternizing had been on her mind for years. Janeway contemplated -- but that was all she had done, off and on for years, and it had gotten her nowhere. 

"I don't think that's what it's about," she said.

Now he seemed taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"I think they're thinking about us."

She'd managed to shock him. He couldn't seem to move, or speak.

"We talked about a policy, before. We talked about the crew. We haven't talked about us, but I think we may be the only ones who haven't."

He nodded. He seemed unsurprised at that.

"But you knew this."

Finally, a smile, but a small one. "Gossip happens. We had dinner together on a semi- frequent basis. I knew what was said."

If she thought about it, she would retreat -- of course he would play it safe.

"Some of it was true."

At that, he crossed his arms, and the smile vanished. A too-long silence sent her anxiety to new heights.

"I know," he said at last.

"Especially the part about me." She'd never heard a shred of whatever gossip there had been, but the obvious had to have been stated at some point.

"About -- " Chakotay stood up straight as a post. Another shock. He had thought it would be about something else -- stop, Kathryn, she chided herself silently, stop letting fear rebuild the wall. Stop imagining what he thinks.

"Was it true, about you?" She heard the tension in her voice, didn't like it, and decided that was enough of it. "I have this idea. It's not original by any means. Oldest story in the book, in fact."

"This wouldn't involve birds, or bees?" 

It had worked -- she remembered to breathe, tried to do it silently. "I think there might have been an angry warrior."

"That was a while ago. I didn't think...."

"We didn't have time to think, Chakotay," she said evenly, finding her stride. "We haven't had time for anything but survival, and even that became difficult. I ended up in a dank cell on a world across the quadrant, with a broken leg and no food. I was rescued by the _Enterprise_ and spent the past months in recovery - they kept me in sickbay for a while. I slept a lot. And then I spent my afternoons with four children that I would never have met, if their parents conformed to my expectations."

Chakotay lost some of the tension as she spoke. Before she realized she was doing it, she put her hands on her hips again, paced a few steps, and noticed her audience watching her intently.

"You finally started to take care of yourself," he murmured.

She stopped pacing and glanced at him. "This is an 'I told you so.'"

"Yes, indeed, it is." Now he actively suppressed a grin, looked at the floor, starting to resemble a shy boy. "This idea, does it involve giving me more leverage in getting you to take better care of yourself?"

It was like the last piece of a large, complex puzzle. Janeway felt the smile creeping wider as his eyes came up to meet hers.

"A fringe benefit, I think."

"I'd like to hear all about the latest madcap scheme of Kathryn Janeway. However, I think we need to postpone it so we aren't incredibly late to the event -- how many assumptions would they make about us if we don't show up?"

She nodded, conceding the point. "All right. Just so we won't offend our hosts. I've never really cared what people say, you know."

He offered an arm, and she took it, as if proving the point. But they met very few people, only a few ensigns in transit here and there, and it was almost disappointing.

They arrived in Ten Forward to find it transformed. A long table with white tablecloths set with fine china and silverware ran half the length of the room, bowls of flowers set at regular intervals, a tall arrangement of lilies and fern on the bar. In the corner a man was pushing a piano into place. Crewmen were carrying away storage containers. Carpeting had been removed to reveal a dance floor.

"Hello," Troi said, coming toward her from the left, where Janeway had yet to look. She still had the warm smile. The dress uniform fit her as well as it did anyone, and she'd done her hair differently, in a neat roll on the back of her head. 

"I thought we were late," Janeway said. She noticed Troi's eyes flick down to Janeway's possessive hold on Chakotay's arm.

"No, you're right on time," Troi said, somehow managing just a light touch of smugness.


	11. Chapter 11

Picard watched several more of _Voyager_ 's crew come in -- the engineer and her husband, plus Harry Kim -- and recounted. He had assumed Annika Hansen would be there, had been bracing himself for another encounter, but perhaps she had opted out. He pushed away a fleeting thought that he might have had something to do with that.

He'd taken up a position along the left side of the room, back to one of the viewports, so he could see everyone. Some of the crew had come to greet him, but he supposed it was obvious he wasn't in a particularly talkative mood. They'd all moved on to the bar, and to gathering in small circles around the room talking and mingling.

"When does the dancing start?" Beverly asked, coming alongside with a tall drink in hand.

"The new dress uniform appears to suit you better than it does me. I find that unfair."

"You're kidding, right?" She gave him a once-over. "You are kidding."

"Not at all. Where's Tom got to?"

"I believe Dee asked him to be good tonight, so he's quietly mixing drinks for us. This is a lemon drop special, he says. I like it."

"I'll have to ask him if he knows how to make a Samarian sunrise."

" _Voyager_ 's doctor is an Emergency Medical Hologram. How the hell does a hologram become such a narcissist?" The EMH was holding court at the end of the bar, across the room from them. Davidson and Batris were in his small audience.

"You'll have to ask Dee, I slept through basic psychology."

Beverly stared at him, not open-mouthed, but nearly so. She shook her head. "Anyway, that lieutenant, Torres, the Klingon engineer Maquis? Apparently she married Admiral Paris' son."

"Beverly, I am a Starfleet officer, not a gossip."

"Deanna needs to get here ten minutes ago. You're a complete bore without her."

"Yes, I am woefully incomplete without my better half," he replied, completely deadpan.

Beverly actually giggled and leaned against him. "Jean-Luc, relax," she whispered, the words tickling his ear. "Get a Samarian sunrise and have a good time. We are for once among friends with no diplomacy or battle readiness necessary. Aren't we?"

"We must be, why else would you be tipsy already?"

She sobered, looking him in the eye. "Your crew thinks your wife needs to kick your ass, so you'll stop being grumpy."

He scowled at her, or tried to. "A euphemism, I'm sure."

She laughed again. "Look, there's Dee -- I think she looks better in the uniform than I do."

"I think you're right," Picard muttered. Deanna returned to Ten Forward with Janeway's security officer, Tuvok, recently discharged from sickbay. The Vulcan gave her a stiff nod before striding over to the bar where several of _Voyager_ 's senior officers greeted him.

Picard smiled at his first officer as she wove around several small clusters of officers and came to a stop scant feet away from him, neatly clasping her hands in front of her instead of ripping open his jacket.

She stared, her warm smile fading a little, and he realized she'd picked up the thought. Tilting her head, she moved her hands from front to back, pressing her lips together slightly. Trying not to laugh at him. 

[Be good, Jean-Luc. You're supposed to be an example.]

"Indeed," he replied.

"Some of them are asking how long repairs will take, and whether we will escort _Voyager_ home. Perhaps we should have an all-staff meeting tomorrow, to answer questions?" As Deanna spoke, he noticed over her shoulder that Janeway was glancing their way and sidling as she spoke to her officers, as if about to head their direction.

"We can try. Tom said his engineers are estimating at least two weeks of repairs before we can call _Voyager_ functional. We should give them three or four weeks, optimally. We'll have to get the ship grounded somewhere to tear into the nacelles and do it properly. That may not be enough time, either -- it depends on what we find when the engines are torn apart."

"I'll have astrometrics locate an inhabitable world, hopefully without sentient species -- Beverly, really. That scowl will put wrinkles on your face."

Beverly frowned anyway, and responded to Deanna's scold by bouncing a fist off Picard's shoulder. "I know you don't want to be caught socializing with your wife in front of the crew, but I don't think any of the people in this room are really the folks you need to worry about -- if your own senior officers aren't aware you're regularly in each other's uniforms after a decade of watching you argue in staff meetings, I'll eat my boots. Please stop working for the evening?"

"Admiral Crusher has spoken," Picard exclaimed, smirking at her.

"Hello, Captain," Beverly exclaimed, as Janeway finished her approach with several of her officers in tow. "I love your outfit!"

"It does seem to have a universal appeal," Deanna said, glancing from Janeway to Chakotay to Paris. They were, of course, one and all wearing the same white-with-black-seams dress uniform. Only the departmental colors, present along the collar and the piping on the jacket, varied.

"I was just telling Mr. Paris about your remote attack sleds," Janeway said. 

"Lieutenant Greenman would be happy to set you up in a holodeck with Redman's Folly, Mr. Paris," Deanna said. "She does most of the training with the sleds."

"I'm sorry, Kathryn, but we're under doctor's orders not to work tonight," Picard said. "Mr. Paris will have to talk to Natalia tomorrow."

"Some officers consider their work to be recreational," Janeway said, giving them a knowing look.

Deanna smiled at Tom Glendenning, who was arriving from Picard's right with a tray of champagne flutes. "Maybe he could tend bar and give the captain a break."

"Thought that was Guinan's job," Tom said, holding out the tray as they took champagne. "Where is the Lady of the Hangar Deck Sized Hat?"

"On the holodeck, with some very excited children," Deanna said. "You seem to be making do -- though I wouldn't have guessed you'd be drafting deLio for a waiter." She gestured at the security chief, who was handing out champagne across the room.

"Special occasions, you know. L'norim have steady hands. Wait'll you see what I talked Greenman into."

Picard cleared his throat, raised his glass and then his voice. "A toast -- to _Voyager_ , and her tenacious crew. May your journey home be as uneventful as possible."

Glasses were raised all around the room, champagne was sipped, and the group rearranged themselves as the music started, falling into the usual loose arrangements of friends plus the newcomers. Deanna lost herself in the crowd with Beverly -- just as well she'd gotten out of his immediate vicinity, Picard thought, otherwise he'd be thinking about the wrong things -- but Tom Glendenning and Janeway remained.

Tom lounged against the wall, a viewport at his back, waving his glass when he spoke. "I guess the crew's all present and accounted for?"

Janeway glanced around. "Most of them are. I know Seven is somewhere on board, but she doesn't appear to be here yet."

"I'm surprised that you consider her senior staff," Picard said, though it was a repeat of something he'd said recently to her. Although, for her, that had been many months ago.

Janeway met his eyes, a little startled. Clearly she'd forgotten the previous conversation. "I suppose I do, though we never really gave her a position, other than being in charge of astrometrics. She always attended the senior staff meetings."

"I guess things got a little out of spec out here," Tom said, attempting jovial and lighthearted. "But you do what you have to, survival kind of demands it."

Janeway studied him as if trying to figure him out. "Seven would be an asset to any crew."

"If you could get her to follow orders, maybe," Tom said. Picard leveled a stare at him. Tom almost suppressed the flinch when he noticed. "Well. . . I know you relied on her, Kathryn. And possibly she's got some interesting part of her personality that would make her more aware that she's ordering people around despite not even having a commission herself?"

Janeway contemplated him, the initial flash of irritation dying quickly. Only to be replaced by sadness. "I'm worried about her, Tom. She's not a drone. I realize that you probably have no reason to think beyond your first impression of her, and I can imagine what that must have been, given the stress my entire crew has been under. . . she doesn't handle stress as well as she pretends."

The pang of guilt due to second thoughts about his last engagement with the former Borg must have shown in Picard's face. Tom, never one to be comfortable with emotional honesty, excused himself to go tend bar, leaving him alone with Janeway.

"Are you all right, Jean-Luc?"

"Yes, of course." And now Deanna was looking across the room at them, curious about what she sensed. The wordless reassurance he sent addressed her worry and she turned back to the EMH's animated monologue. When he turned back to Janeway, he found himself still facing a questioning expression, however. 

"Seven confronted me again earlier today," he confessed. 

Janeway wilted a little, shaking her head. "She's tenacious when she gets an idea. In some ways a positive thing, but in others...."

"I lost patience with her, and I'm not certain how she responded to it - we were interrupted. I suspect that has something to do with her absence."

Now she was angry - not much, though, because she immediately deflated again and her eyes went distant as she thought for a moment about it. "She tends to brush off angry reactions from people. What did she do?"

"She was speechless, then somewhat hesitant to respond to it. I lectured her about the blind spot she has, in her quest for seeking the very thing she is refusing to allow."

Now, Janeway was bereft. She stared at him with an expression that revealed little. Startled, perhaps confused. At length she echoed, "Blind spot."

"She wants all the rewards of being human without embracing any of the challenges. She wants to be accepted, loved, and to have intimate relationships, but wants to reject fear and emotional pain." Suddenly it struck him -- this was actually a summary of his own life, prior to turning around to embrace Deanna and all subsequent miracles that followed. No wonder he had been so rejecting of Seven. He smiled, even laughed a little, at the thought.

Janeway took a step backward.

"Oh, no, no. It's the irony of it all -- the icing on the cake. How short sighted I was, how I was doing exactly that -- how different life is now, by comparison. How I clung to the charade of being so self sufficient and content with my life, until life showed me what was missing. How long it took to accept that message."

And here came Deanna, succumbing to curiosity about the source of his joy. She smiled at him, her eyes focusing on his chest. She had been so careful about not triggering the bond, not freeing the cascade of emotion that they did not want to show in public. With his current mood, eye contact would certainly set it off. 

He almost caught her up in an embrace, but moderated the urge, settling for reaching for her -- even as she responded automatically to his intent and stepped into the one-armed embrace, she showed her momentary anxiety in her face. But there she was at his side. Joined at the hip, as it were. Proximity was nearly as triggering as direct eye contact, but it turned out to be manageable.

"Thank you," he told her, daring to turn his head toward her, stopping short of kissing her hair.

Instead of responding verbally she relaxed, not questioning the public show of affection, and even leaned into him. "It's nice to be home."

He almost commented, but realized she meant him, not the ship. Before he could react, movement alerted him that someone approached from his right -- Davidson.

"I have to wonder if you have considered the consequences of your actions," he said in as mild a tone as possible. "I'm sure this little display of affection will result in a warp core breach."

Behind them, laughter -- Mengis, Greenman, and a few others he couldn't identify. Picard sighed. Then Deanna laughed quietly as well, and the ripple of amusement was such a welcome pleasure he chuckled too. And, he noticed, Janeway hadn't turned to stone at the sight; she actually smiled -- fondly, he thought. So the unforeseen benefit of leaving her on the _Enterprise_ made itself obvious. 

"I'm certain we'll find a way to avoid such dire destiny," Picard fired back at the counselor.

"Several ways. Before breakfast." Davidson smirked as Mengis and Batris joined him, hovering just to Deanna's right. 

"We appear to have a saboteur among us," Deanna said. "The counselor is resorting to blackmail."

"I suppose we should be on opposite ends of the ship until he's incarcerated. Just to be sure."

"Hey," Ben exclaimed. He couldn't quite muster a facade of ire; he was too busy grinning.

Picard heard the distant sound of the door opening, and glanced past his officers to the right -- the former Borg was there. She hesitated and scanned the room. When she saw him their eyes met for mere seconds, then she spun around and left, her posture stiff.

"What was that about?" Davidson asked.

Picard looked at Janeway, fearing the worst, and had little time to register the dismay in her face. Deanna distracted him -- pulled away from him, and her expression confirmed that he had indeed made a mess of things.

"You are aware that the female population of the galaxy doesn't necessarily agree with you that you're too old for them," she said matter-of-factly, managing to look almost bored. He knew better; her mood better matched the look on Janeway's face. Dismay, and anger. Which may have been his, actually -- the implication of her statement sent him a step backward.

"I didn't -- " he began, but as usual, his ire made little difference.

" -- do anything, say anything, probably acted like a prickly, grumpy old man making as little eye contact as possible, but children assimilated and forced into maturation chambers don't develop the ability to read your body language or pick up your sarcasm, not that she would have necessarily been dissuaded -- "

"I have -- "

" -- socks older than that girl, except you don't any more. I threw them away along with the socks that were older than me." Deanna thumped him in the ribs with her fist and left, heading for the bar. She hadn't sounded angry at all, at least. 

He noticed that his officers had wandered away as well, likely wanting to give him at least a pretense of privacy, and one of Janeway's had arrived at her right shoulder -- Chakotay didn't look happy, but he also wasn't angry. 

"I should go talk to Seven," Janeway said with a sigh. "I don't know what I'll say."

Picard frowned. "I didn't do anything to encourage her."

Janeway startled him by putting a hand on his arm. "I know. She's just lonely. I'm afraid the difficulties integrating with our crew are continuing."

"I had hoped -- there she goes," he said, catching movement out of the corner of his eye -- Deanna was making a beeline for the door, her posture and stride demonstrating the intensity of her focus. As if he couldn't tell -- he'd been blocked out, so as not to be a distraction. 

"Has she met Seven yet?" Chakotay asked. 

"I don't believe so, but she may have. She spent a good part of the day meeting your crew."

"We talked about Seven," Janeway said. It took Picard a moment to track that she was speaking to Chakotay. "He suggested that she might have a place aboard _Venture_."

Picard winced a little. "I think that isn't such a good idea, now that I've seen how incompatible Tom is. He refused."

Janeway shook her head, dropping her gaze and sighing. Chakotay surprised Picard by putting a hand on her shoulder -- not just the hand, he leaned and most of his arm made contact with her back. "I don't doubt we'll find a way to help her integrate, Kathryn."

Past them, visible over Janeway's left shoulder, Picard caught a fleeting glimpse of Tom Paris' face as he turned to Kim -- a surprised grin suggested that the lieutenant approved of sudden affectionate behavior between his superior officers. 

"I think it's likely we'll take her with us when we leave," Picard said.

That got shocked looks from both of them. "I thought we were talking about the future, when _Voyager_ returns," Chakotay said.

"Why would you do that when you're so set on finding and returning all the -- " Janeway shook her head. "Another favor I asked for?"

"No." 

She tilted her head, suddenly wary. "You don't have orders regarding Seven -- do you?"

The sudden return of contact with his wife via the bond distracted him momentarily. Deanna had shifted gears. No anger, no accusation, just a blend of sympathy and frustration. And warning.

"No orders." The longer explanation would have gone against Kathryn's request to not inform her past self of the details.

"Sympathy," Chakotay muttered.

"Despite being a grumpy old man, I've been known to make an effort." He focused for a moment. Held up a hand, pointed at the door, and it opened. 

Hansen came through first, followed by Deanna. The ex-Borg made a beeline for them. Picard glanced at Janeway and Chakotay -- both had raised eyebrows and watched with no small amount of shock.

Picard managed to remain in the relaxed stance he'd been in, wishing he'd bothered to get another drink. He watched Deanna instead of the former Borg, pointedly. When Seven stopped in front of him, he met her gaze steadily. But she didn't seem able to speak.

"I lost my patience - I apologize," he said.

Her implant twitched. "I was not as direct as I should have been," she said simply. Behind her, Deanna crossed her arms and adopted an exasperated expression she usually reserved for dealing with one of Amy's meltdowns.

"Apology accepted. I see you've met Commander Troi. She's the one you should have appealed to, not me. I'm still a work in progress."

Hansen's icy blue eyes slid to the right, to look at Deanna. "I believe you are correct." The cold delivery told him that despite her admission of error, the injury was still fresh. Not that he cared so much. He looked directly at his wife, to find her appraising him thoughtfully.

"I think it's time for dinner," Deanna announced.

"There's a salad calling my name," Picard said, attempting to return to jovial and friendly and obediently following her in the direction of the table. 

"That is unlikely," Hansen announced behind him.

"Off to a wonderful start," he muttered, pulling out a chair for his wife.

 

\-------------------------

Janeway had to wait through dinner to address Seven's simmering anger. Seven had chosen a seat between Data and Tuvok, of all people, and hardly touched her food -- which she wouldn't have done anyway, but there was an increased stiffness to her that only someone familiar with her would notice, and she remained silent throughout the meal, where normally she would ask questions in her abrupt manner and comment on the obvious.

At the end of the meal, everyone either dispersed to dance or sit in small groups around the bar, and Seven chose a tiny table near a viewport to sit and stare out at the stars. Janeway picked up the cup of coffee she'd asked for at the bar and joined her.

"Seven?"

Seven stared at her across the table. Anger, and pain, Janeway thought. She glanced over at Troi, who had not showed any sign of awareness of anyone's emotions during dinner. The Betazoid stood near the bar, glass in hand, smiling and listening while Glendenning talked animatedly. Nearby, Picard was in serious conversation with Davidson, Chakotay, and Data. 

Janeway turned back to Seven. "You're upset."

"I do not wish to discuss it."

"I do. Because as we've discussed before, I have concerns about your future in the Alpha Quadrant. This is the beginning of that transition."

"I have decided not to go. I intend to request a shuttle."

"Return to the Collective? You can't convince me that's what you want to do."

"It has been made clear to me that I am not welcome in the Federation."

Janeway wished she had a transcript of what had been said, so she could understand how Seven had come to that conclusion, which she was certain was a misunderstanding. "The Federation would welcome you. Individuals in it will have varied responses to your presence. You're thinking globally -- I know you can find a place in the Federation to call home."

Seven robotically turned her head and stared at the stars. 

Janeway thought about all the repetitive and long conversations -- arguments, sometimes -- trying to get Seven to understand. Trying to help her soften, become more open to suggestions or even affection. 

"I hate to see you like this. I thought you were making progress."

"Not enough."

A soft footfall on carpet alerted Janeway and she looked over her shoulder to find Troi had arrived. "Hello, Commander."

Troi gave her a slight smile, losing it again as she flicked her eyes to gaze at Seven. She waited.

Seven didn't move. "I do not wish to talk to you."

"Then you don't have to," Troi said. "But you will listen. I understand that you have no context with which to comprehend what you have been offered. Otherwise you might show some appreciation for generosity from a man who has absolutely no reason to tolerate your presence."

"I am not responsible for what the Collective did to -- "

"No, but you are responsible for your behavior. So far, you are behaving like a three-year-old. I can assure you that such behavior is not tolerated from the staff aboard this ship. Sulking is what my children do." Troi took two steps and crossed her arms, continuing at a lower volume. "Get up and deal with it."

Janeway gaped up at Troi, and was ignored. She started to protest -- 

"You told me," Troi began slowly, not letting Janeway even start, "that you requested to serve aboard the _Enterprise_. You told me that he indicated your path would be through the Academy. You assume that this was equivalent to denial because you don't feel you need that -- he did not tell you it wouldn't be possible. He told you how to do it. It was the truth. What made you think that you would be exempt from that prerequisite, just because you don't want to go?"

At last, Seven turned away from the stars, but now gazed down at the table. Her face seemed less stony.

"You have no idea, none, how much he hates the Borg," Troi continued, more softly than before. "No idea what it cost him to be assimilated. You said he told you -- I'm sure you think you know. But you don't. If you had come aboard this ship fifteen years ago, you would have been shot, thrown out the airlock, beamed into space -- not handed a cup of tea and offered a career. He is not entirely sympathetic and he is not happy that you imposed your demands on him, but he understands you in a way you will never understand him. Because he has children, and he recognizes you need the guidance and patience he gives his children. He had no clue what your intentions really were."

Janeway saw the tears and the rigidity of Seven's jaw. "Deanna, I -- "

Troi held up a hand, and Janeway fell silent mostly because she was shocked at being silenced. "You have a right to be angry. You feel rejected. But letting your hurt feelings decide your future, build a wall between you and people who care about you -- your crewmates spent an entire meal glancing down the table, wondering what was wrong, hoping you are okay -- will not help you. You are letting your fury at being denied immediate gratification of your request for what you believe will eradicate the fear of loneliness and rejection blind you. You have been offered a way home, by people who are willing to set aside their own history of suffering, pain, grief and physical injury at the hands of the Collective."

She paused, letting it settle, then uncrossed her arms and placed her hands on the table, slowly leaning in until Seven turned to look at her. "You are being incredibly rude. Selfish. All of it because you are afraid. You think you are making rational decisions, but you are being more human than you want to be -- like every other human, you have a deep need for social contact and intimacy. It's coded into your DNA. Humans evolved that way. It drives you into endless rationalizations and clinging to what you know, what you feel is normal, what is comfortable, is your only way you know to deal with the terror of trying to navigate relationships and failing. I understand, because it's all consistent with every insecure, needy, anxious human being I have ever met, and I even know how hard you work to hide it under all the stern straight-faced assertions of being controlled and rational."

Seven's face hardened again. 

"You don't know what normal feelings are, or how to handle what you feel. I have to wonder if you even notice the impact of what you say."

"This is not the first time it has been stated so," Seven murmured brokenly.

"You need to learn. That was what Captain Picard intended for me to do, while you are aboard. Coach you and bring you up to speed. He intended to offer you a civilian position -- not astrometrics, or anything else to do with ship's functioning. Something that would give you opportunities to practice social contacts in an informal setting, with people who will be tolerant of any imperfections or awkward moments. A safe place. You still have the opportunity."

Janeway sat back, studying Troi's passive expression -- the lecture had been delivered without anger, scolding, or accusation, almost whispered across a few feet of airspace at the tense woman who had no chance against a Betazoid empath determined to make a point.

"She needs time," Janeway whispered. 

Troi finally met Janeway's eyes. "Yes, and advice, and guidance."

"Do you want to help me?" Seven asked. The quaver in her voice told Janeway how close Seven was to crying, something she hated to do.

Troi straightened, crossing her arms again. "I have four children, a ship to run, a captain who probably equals Captain Janeway for high expectations, a couple dozen cadets to train, and a husband who pretends he doesn't like rescuing strays and misfits. Scheduling appointments will be difficult, but I think we can manage."

Seven nodded. She still didn't look happy. "You did not answer my question."

"No, I don't want to. However, I also know that feelings change, and so do people. And it would also help a friend. Captain Janeway won't be able to help you in the way she would want to. Since she wouldn't ask, I'll volunteer. I can see the possibility that you may be a good addition to our small community of civilians."

"Thank you," Seven said quietly. She finally seemed to calm, looking down at the table. 

"Go spend time with your friends," Troi said, her tone shifting to the more familiar warmth. "They won't be here for much longer."

Seven stood, looked around the room, nodded to Janeway and crossed to the bar, exhibiting the same deliberate, aggressive stride as always. Janeway exhaled, realizing she'd been holding her breath. 

"My God, Deanna, what was that?"

"Establishing expectations. An attempt to avoid further misunderstandings." Troi took the chair Seven had vacated. "You feel responsible for her. I can imagine why."

"I expected you to have more sympathy for her," Janeway exclaimed. This was after all the woman who was responsible for helping Picard return to humanity from assimilation.

"She doesn't need sympathy. It's irrelevant." Deanna showed sympathy in her eyes, though, and a little weariness. "She's a child. She hasn't learned how to recognize her emotions, let alone how to regulate them. That she can seem like an adult is no indicator of progress. Denial is the only defense she seems to have."

"She's always seemed so stoic and sometimes emotionless. I'm quite shocked that she would want to pursue Jean-Luc. She doesn't even know him."

Deanna glanced around the room, the corner of her mouth twitching. "She doesn't actually feel anything for him. It was a decision she made rationally based on her assumption that he would understand her better than men who show physical attraction to her, which she has no sense of how to handle. It didn't help that he showed no hint of attraction to her -- that actually made him more appealing to her."

"I could see how she wouldn't be appealing to him intellectually." Janeway watched Seven stroll along the bar toward the Doctor after talking briefly to Paris and Torres, her gait as upright and unconsciously attention-getting as usual. The heels didn't help. Several men were watching her. 

Deanna followed her gaze. "I suppose when she came aboard, there was a lot of interest from male crew, that dropped off when it became clear she wasn't really compatible?"

Janeway sighed, thinking about Paris teasing Kim in the mess hall. "It was very obvious, quite soon after she came aboard, that there would be problems."

"Was she asking for help?"

"When we disconnected her from the Collective, it was in the middle of a difficult encounter with the Borg. A more formidable species became a common enemy. Of course, the moment there was no longer a common threat, the Borg turned on us. I chose to have the Doctor remove as many of the Borg implants as possible -- I saw her as a captive of the Borg, instead of treating her like an enemy." 

"You didn't have a thought of killing her."

"Because the _Enterprise_ demonstrated that it was possible to recover her. I know that I couldn't have predicted the ramifications of that, for her. I didn't really know what it was like to be Borg, any more than she knew how to be human. I wanted to be compassionate. Sometimes I wonder if that was truly compassionate, after all."

Troi nodded, her expression sad and a little amused. "There are so many of those choices. Did Jean-Luc tell you about Hugh?"

"Who?"

"The drone we found, in a crash site. He was the only survivor. Isolated from the Collective, confused, damaged. We didn't think he was redeemable at first. Third of Five. Some of us thought the decision to show compassion was wrong, others had ethical qualms about examining him to give us insight into the Borg. Jean-Luc's initial hostility and anger was entirely predictable."

"What happened to him? Is he still aboard?" 

"After he adjusted to individuality, we gave him the choice. Jean-Luc would have been willing to give him asylum. Hugh chose to return to the crash site, to be reassimilated, because he did not want the Borg to return and assimilate his friends on the _Enterprise_. Geordi beamed down with him and watched him be re-assimilated. He said later he believes that Hugh remembered being an individual, that as the drones were being transported away Hugh looked at him with awareness and feeling that other Borg didn't exhibit."

"So he did fully adjust to being an individual?" Janeway watched Seven standing with Paris, Torres and the Doctor. She seemed as relaxed as ever, which for her was to stand stiffly and respond once in a while.

"It seemed so. The difference, I believe, was the age at which he was assimilated. He'd been a mature adult when assimilated, not a child."

Janeway sighed, shaking her head, feeling exhausted. "I hope you can help her."

"If she lets us, we can."

"Was that... how you were as a counselor?"

"Not always." Troi's eyes tracked up and right, and here came Greenman. 

"Good evening, Commander, Captain. This is the quietest fun party I've ever been to." The lieutenant was cheerful, her energy and enthusiasm obvious as usual. Janeway knew from her time with the children and the lieutenant that Greenman was practically part of the Picard family, so Troi's warm regard for her was expected.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it," Troi said, smiling. "Have you met Annika Hansen?"

Greenman inclined her head to the right, puzzled. "No."

"She may have been introduced as Seven. Right over there." Troi pointed with her chin.

"Oh, in the jumpsuit?" Greenman half-turned to look. "Mr. Paris introduced me. She didn't seem happy."

"Go talk to her."

Greenman studied her superior officer with raised eyebrows. Unexpectedly, she grinned and shrugged. "Okay." The young woman sauntered away, her short ponytail bouncing.

"What are you doing?" Janeway exclaimed. "She's not at all the sort of friend Seven would get along with."

"Do you trust me?"

Janeway took a deep breath and nodded. "I don't see how -- " She cut herself off when she caught a glimpse of sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. 

Seven stalked from the room. It was clearly a reaction -- she left Greenman standing at the bar. The lieutenant didn't seem phased; she was looking to Deanna, and at the commander's nod with her head inclined toward the door, Greenman jogged off to follow Seven out the door. So it hadn't been just a suggestion, sending her to befriend Seven.

"You _assigned_ her to talk to Seven? What are you doing?"

And then, suddenly, Picard appeared on Janeway's right, as if he'd intentionally snuck up on her -- but perhaps she'd been that focused on the conversation with Troi.

"You are completely ignoring your husband," he announced. Janeway thought this must be another round of good-natured bickering, but she couldn't see it in his face. He sounded quite stern as well.

Troi did a perfect Vulcan single-eyebrow-lift at him. "You were talking about bar brawls and other misadventures. I thought I should absent myself, before I started calling all of you out for exaggeration and lies."

"I hope she isn't boring you, Kathryn." He smiled down at Janeway, still not giving away that he was teasing -- a master of deadpan. But it had to be a tease.

"Quite the contrary."

"I confronted Miss Hansen and sent Nat to talk to her," Troi said, which didn't begin to describe what had transpired, Janeway thought.

But somehow he understood. "Ah, guerrilla counseling. So happy you haven't tried that on me lately."

"Resistance...."

Picard muttered in French, yanked his jacket straight unnecessarily, and waved her off as he turned to go to the bar.

"I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening, Kathryn. I should go mingle. Perhaps we can meet for lunch tomorrow?"

"I'd like that. Even though I'm still not sure what to make of it -- thank you, for your help."

Troi smiled and followed her husband, who turned to hand her a drink just as she came to his side. Janeway thought about what Davidson had said about sharing a brain, and decided again that she was happy not to have been around when Troi was still a counselor.

"Captain?"

"Commander," she responded automatically, turning in her chair to look up at Chakotay.

"I was about to call it a night, and head for my quarters. If you're ready to go, I can walk you to yours."

"As much as I have enjoyed this, I think that might be best."

They left Ten Forward without so much as a glance from anyone -- socializing had been the goal, and in that respect, the event had been a success. Most were still laughing and talking. In the corridor, she found that activity helped; she felt less tired.

"So what were you and Troi talking about so intently with Seven?"

She stopped in her tracks and he had to stop and wait for her to stop shaking her head and explain. "It's hard to describe. Suffice it to say I am relieved that I do not need counseling, and that Deanna is assigned to this ship, not mine."

Chakotay grinned. "Davidson thought that might be it. Did she tell Seven the right things?"

"She calmed her down. Ordered her to socialize, didn't get attitude in return. And the rest -- I'm sure she must have been monitoring her emotions while she -- but I never would have expected Seven to take that kind of scolding."

They started to walk again. "Deanna doesn't strike me as all that threatening or severe. Yet Picard talks about her keeping everyone in line."

"Oh, I have no doubts she can be a force to be reckoned with," Janeway exclaimed, thinking about the past months. "Think about what it must take to be Picard's second in command."

Chakotay snorted. "When you put it that way.... Although, the other part, the marriage, that might balance it out. That's what it sounds like to me."

They strolled in silence into the lift, rode to deck eight, and exited before he spoke again.

"This is the beginning of the end of our journey, Kathryn."

Her already-slow pace faltered. They stood together in the clean, almost sterile corridor of a ship both newer and more advanced than her own, and his statement struck home in a way nothing else had. 

"We still have work to do, at least a couple of years of exploration and travel." She smiled and let her gaze drop. "I anticipate that not all of us will manage to reach the end."

Chakotay stiffened. "That's... not what I am accustomed to hearing from Kathryn Janeway. It sounded like pessimism."

"Perhaps." She sighed, put her hands on her hips, and squared off - not against him, but against the topic of conversation. They started ambling down the corridor again. "How much have you been told about our situation?"

"Well, I know that time travel and a lot of preplanning went into it. I know that our crew has been brought back from and rescued from a variety of situations, and that a few of them are still not accounted for." Chakotay considered this for a few moments. "I know we aren't done yet. There's plenty left to do. But we'll have help for some time yet."

"Yes. I was hoping you'd gotten some information I hadn't yet, but it sounds like we're all up to speed." 

They reached her door. Without hesitation, she walked through as it opened, and the implicit invitation worked -- he followed unquestioningly. Janeway considered the coffee maker, but turned to the replicator and ordered two cups of chamomile. She handed one to Chakotay, and he followed her to the sofa. He sat beside her, turning slightly toward her, and watched her take an experimental sip.

"So about this madcap scheme you were talking about before the dinner -- I'm guessing the influence of our hosts started you thinking again?" 

"I had plenty of time to think. Picard boarded _Voyager_ before I found and went through the Iconian gateway, just after you and the others left _Voyager_. They were time traveling back to find the crew and miscalculated. Apparently, some years from now, we meet on vacation and I request to be informed of some things that will change our trajectory. By which I mean the crew -- we talk about being family. I can't pretend there isn't a distracting level of intimacy with some of them. And it will be an issue, as it was when we were on New Earth."

"Are you glad the crew didn't leave us there?"

"I had such mixed feelings at the time, but ultimately, yes."

"Are we talking parameters again?"

"No."

He froze for a moment. "Okay," he said tentatively.

"I thought I would see how things go."

Another few moments of staring, and he glanced around the room. "You're sure this isn't a parallel universe?"

"Pretty sure, yes." She smiled at him, and got one back. 

"I think we should take it easy," he said. "Slow."

"That would be fine by me." She wondered if he had 'slow' in mind, really, or if this was a tease.

He reached over and took her hand. And so they sat, looking at each other, grinning, until finally she started to laugh. 

"Really, Chakotay? Maybe we need to agree on the definition of slow. This is positively glacial!"

"How about we call it a night, and tomorrow we'll have lunch together?" He was still grinning a little too much, though.

"Okay, that's a slow start. But I already have a lunch date, with Deanna."

"So we'll have dinner. The day after tomorrow, we'll move in together."

Kathryn laughed again, shaking her head. "Are there any settings between glacial and warp six?

"We do have different scales. I thought that would be at least warp eight."

"We could try warp two?"

He squeezed her hand, his grin diminishing, and shrugged. "Or we could just play it by ear."

She smiled again, pulling her hand free just enough to grip his fingers in return. "I have an idea. Let's go for a walk."

"I thought you were tired."

"I still am, a little, but I don't think I would be able to sleep anyway. And this is a marvelous ship to get lost in."


	12. Chapter 12

"I'm wondering how you knew to drop off Fidele," Picard said as he left the lift with Deanna on deck eight. The party had finally ended, with the dispersal of the remaining five die-hards who'd kept them talking until Deanna cried exhaustion. 

She shook her head. "No more talk for the night. Too much talking already today."

They walked into their quarters and found them quiet and empty. The absence of a babysitter surprised him. He glanced around, turned, would have gone into the bedroom, but Deanna blocked his path. She looked him in the eye. Before he could question where the children were, she took his face into her hands and kissed him.

The immediate connection of hajira took over. They swayed together, locked in each other's arms, and he could hardly breathe -- tongues engaged fully and bodies pressed against each other, they spent long moments lost somewhere in each other. The bond had evolved to this state over the years, even as Deanna's control of her abilities had increased. They could, with very little effort, share thoughts as well as feelings. He knew now that the children were with another family, Yves still dosed with inhibitor to ease everyone's anxieties, and that she had spent weeks -- months -- aching every night, the emptiness untouched by her attempts to meditate. She knew he'd felt the same. 

They parted, both needing to breathe, and she began to pull at his jacket. Then she tore at it, destroying the row of fasteners set into the seams, and yanked the undershirt out of his waistband. Her intensity was contagious. Her jacket received similar treatment and both jackets hit the floor as they moved on to undershirts, waistbands, and boots. He pulled apart the front of her bra, pitched it aside, and slid his hand down her hip as his tongue returned to her mouth. 

He'd learned over time that he could respond to this aggressive turn of mood in kind without concern, and that the result would be more than satisfactory for both of them. So when she grabbed his shoulders he turned her, backing her through the bedroom door, pulling at her panties until the side seam snapped -- the momentary pinch of pain caused by the straining fabric came and went, subsumed by pleasure. 

She slid her hands down, unfastened the fly, and laughed as his pants slipped down his legs -- he hadn't bothered with underwear. The moment of distraction passed as quickly as it came, and they had a brief tug of war before he won and she fell on the bed, shifting into a more comfortable position as he joined her, not gently, shoving her slightly up the bed as he pushed her thighs open, raising her right knee and sliding home effortlessly, finding that she was ready and more than receptive.

He crushed her mouth under his, hand tightening in her hair, and she rose to meet him with every thrust. As usual she came first, and he rode through and shared it with her until it subsided, then continued to thrust as he had been. Their sweaty bodies slid against each other as she tried again to take control. She fought a little more than before but he still prevailed, shoving into her harder than before, knowing she wanted him to. When he kissed her again he felt the smile on her lips against his.

She moaned and writhed, and came again -- it rushed along his nervous system like lightning, eliciting a groan from him. Her third orgasm wasn't too long after. It had been a long absence indeed; it took very little to take her to a fourth, and he joined her, unable to maintain control at last. 

As heart fire finally subsided, he slid to his side of the bed, she moved aside to give him space, and then she settled against his arm with her cheek to his shoulder. 

"You're tired," he mumbled. "Not a record."

"Is it a competition? Who am I competing with?" It amused her, from the tickle along his spine. 

"Oh, I'm surprised you didn't notice the sordid affair with the first officer." 

"That crazy woman?" She snorted. "You're just as tired."

"Hmmm, well." He slid his hand along her breast, down her abdomen, stopping at the hip. She didn't laugh audibly, but silently mocked his optimism. He sighed and had to admit that he really had no energy left.

"Told you, silly fish."

"Mmm... you haven't called me that in a while."

"I set the alarm for a little earlier than usual. It should give us time for an encore before the children come home."

"Then we should sleep well for the occasion."

They settled into comfortable positions, arms draped over each other, and he wished for the boundless energy and libido of his youth. A niggle of concern popped up again, and she easily read the thought and responded.

"I'm fine. The children are fine. Our eldest had great difficulty while you were gone," she mumbled.

Picard sighed. He'd been gone for most of the time Yves had been going through the onset of empathy. A conversation with him earlier had been quite informative as to how much anxiety and frustration had resulted. 

"What are we going to do about that? The others will be right behind him. We can't keep the four of them on inhibitor until they leave the nest."

She grinned -- he didn't have to look, the mischief was clear to him as was her awareness of why he worried about this. Celibacy had no appeal for her either.

"I have an idea, but now is not the time. Sleep, lovely man."

"I missed you too much."

He slid his hand up to her shoulder, to her face, and gently stroked her cheek, down her jawbone along her chin, before inching close to kiss her again, gently.

{I have decided that we will never be separated in time again.}

"Good." Deanna closed her eyes, sighing again. "Now, sleep."

But as he had many times before, he found that being tired wasn't enough, and he lay awake for a while after she began to snore lightly. He almost drifted off to sleep several times, but Deanna kept shifting position, sliding an arm across his chest, tossing a leg over his, pushing her chin into his chest. Eventually, she settled and became dead weight draped against him. 

He hummed quietly and ran his fingers through her curls, finally falling asleep.

\--------------------------

Janeway found herself smiling as she left her quarters in the morning. As she made her way to the morning briefing, she even recognized some of the _Enterprise_ crew, a few ensigns and one of the nurses from sickbay, passing her in the corridors. Tom Glendenning met her coming the other way and they entered the largest of the briefing rooms together. 

"Morning," he said, and something struck her as odd - she realized as he strode off to take a seat next to his first officer that it was because he wasn't joking around, swaggering, strutting or doing anything he normally did. 

Janeway took quick note of the arrangement - staff seemed to be arranging themselves by ship, grouping in a way to allow those crewmates not present space to sit with them. So she sidled along behind chairs to sit with Paris and Torres, the only early birds from her crew. 

"Good morning, Captain," Paris said warmly. 

"Good morning, Tom. B'Elanna."

"We have reports for you - a detailed list of needed repairs, and a head count." Paris handed her two padds as she sat down. 

She scrolled down the list of names first. "It looks like we have some searching to do, once we have the ship back in one piece. I estimated four or five - not sixteen missing."

"After we all split up, there were a couple more subdivisions," B'Elanna said. "We weren't having much luck finding the needed materials where we ended up."

"So do we have any idea where they might be?"

Paris shrugged. "Jor, Mendez and Mulcahey were hoping to find some parts and maybe some dilithium or deuterium at a space station we heard about. They were gone about a week when the _Enterprise_ showed up."

"They have runabouts -- we could ask -- " B'Elanna's suggestion was cut short by the arrival of the rest of the staff expected, including Troi and Picard. While everyone else went about seat selection, Picard headed for the replicator. Troi sat just to the left of the head of the table, where her staff had left an open chair, and Picard went to the last seat at the head of the table, sat down, placing a cup in front of Troi and keeping his own in hand.

"I've asked you all to the morning staff meeting to check in on the progress in repairing _Voyager_ , and to obtain a status report. Mr. Benoit and Mr. Batris have been coordinating with Ms. Torres, I believe?"

"Yes," chorused at least two of the named officers, and B'Elanna glanced down at Batris, embarrassed. Batris grinned and nodded her direction, so she continued. "The repairs to the engines will require another four days to restore them to operational, a week to get them in top shape. Or as close as we can get without a starbase. There are still major repairs left to complete, in the transporters, the EPS conduits throughout the ship -- we need replacement gel packs and there's so much to do on the bridge, replacing blown circuitry. We could spend a month and still have repairs left to do."

"Unless we double the repair crews," Data said. "Many of the ops staff could assist. A twenty-four hour schedule would also shorten that estimate."

"I have a few repairs of my own to do, but nothing so time-consuming -- we'll have almost the full engineering staff available, and probably half of operations to do the less complicated repair work, like replacing gel packs," Glendenning said.

"That would be our situation as well," Troi put in. 

"Excellent. What about a location for grounding _Voyager_?" Picard leaned back slightly, sipping his coffee. 

Heads turned back down the table as Data responded from the other end. The room, and the group, was large enough that it was necessary to raise their voices. "There is an M class planet within a day of our current location. I am sending a shuttle to determine whether intelligent life is present, and if not, an ideal location to land."

Picard nodded. Glancing at Janeway, he cleared his throat. "I know that we have more of _Voyager_ 's crew to find, as well. An away team will be sent later today to continue that search."

"Are we able to request information as well as repairs?" Janeway asked.

He wasn't surprised at all. "Actually, we want to answer some of the questions we know you have. For one, how and why we brought two ships back in time without fear of reprimands. I think context is particularly important, in this case." He turned to his first officer and inclined his head as if handing the floor to her.

Troi reached for the computer console in front of her. "Computer, dim the lights by twenty-five percent."

As the lights obeyed, a hologram sprang from the center of the table to hover in the air above them. Janeway smiled -- a mini-astrometrics in a briefing room. How convenient. As Troi continued to key in directions, the three dimensional model of the galaxy turned on edge, and colored amoeba-like spaces began to form -- Janeway recognized the locations of the Federation, and all the empires around it, Klingon, Romulan, Cardassian, other smaller territories. Then the Borg, then other Delta Quadrant territories began to grow, followed by a single yellow ellipse in the Beta Quadrant. The ellipse slowly grew, and grew, and pushed against the edges of the Romulan Empire, at the same time bleeding slowly in tendrils across the boundary between Beta and Delta Quadrants, fingers reaching as far as the very edges of Borg space. 

"Computer, mark our current location in the galaxy," Troi said. A black dot appeared within one of the yellow peninsulas edging into the Delta Quadrant. "I doubt that any of the species here would identify themselves as being in what was formerly known as Randra Alliance space. It's doubtful they remember, even in recorded history, ever hearing about the Randra. So many of the civilizations on our side of this region have no such records. However, we know from intelligence gained while in this region, as well as information provided by the Romulan Empire, that this area was dominated by the Randra."

Silence -- uneasy, from the looks being exchanged around the room. Janeway remembered what Picard had told her about the Randra Alliance, and grimly stared up at the magnitude of their sphere of influence. Glendenning's staff had serious expressions. Troi was frowning as if not feeling well. Picard merely clasped his hands on the table in front of him and stared at some point in the air just ahead of them. Janeway's crew were more concerned, perhaps a little confused. The Doctor rose from his chair, turning his head and leaning away from the hologram in an attempt to grasp the scope of it. Tuvok turned to Janeway from two seats away, angling to see her around Harry and Chakotay. 

"Captain, if we are unable to negotiate for passage with the Randra -- "

"A moment, Mr. Tuvok," Picard interrupted. "The Randra themselves are no longer there. From many, many missions to meet with species in the region, we have learned that the Randra Alliance is misnamed. Thousands of years ago, long before most Federation species were sentient, the Randra reigned by manipulating genetics -- they engineered an entire species, for the sole purpose of telepathic manipulation on a massive scale. They disdained destruction and war as a means of control. They controlled by manipulation -- confusion, coercion and manipulation were their weapons of choice. They assimilated species without the clumsy and maintenance-heavy tools of the Borg."

He paused, and when there were no comments, he continued. "They have now been gone for thousands of years, apparently, with no indication of where, or how, they left. Our concern is the tools they left behind. Intelligent ones, but all engineered in the same manner as the Jem'Hadar -- their predestined purposes set from the beginning to the end of their lives. There is no negotiating, no questioning or doubt in their minds. You cannot reason with them. They are perhaps not aware of their own reason for existing. They make a pretense of having altruistic motives, to seem innocuous and nonthreatening. There is for them no free will or self determination -- only the fulfillment of their preprogrammed purpose. Some of the things they do, the damage they cause, are as automatic to them as breathing." 

He let that sink in for a few moments, as Troi added a few more details to the hologram. The final one became a long purple tunnel, from a spot slightly farther into the Delta Quadrant but well off the course _Voyager_ had been on, closer to the center of the galaxy. The tunnel terminated along the periphery of the green orb representing Romulan territory.

"That's the wormhole," Janeway exclaimed.

"It's the way you will get home," Picard said. "With a delay of a couple years or so. Some backtracking and side trips will keep you busy. It is preferable, however, to delay and succeed than to disappear into the Beta Quadrant and never be found."

"You're certain that this is absolutely necessary -- that's far too close to -- Captain, do we really want to take the chance of running into the Hirogen again? The Devore? The Krenim weren't terribly friendly either." The Doctor's hysteria caused raised eyebrows in the officers around the table, except for hers -- Paris hid a smile behind his hand, as did Kim, and Tuvok wore an expression he usually reserved for tolerating Neelix.

"There are many risks in backtracking that far, including the Borg -- but if these aliens you are describing are even more dangerous...." Janeway turned from the hologram to Picard. 

Picard had a resolute expression that she thought masked anger, or at least some intense reaction he was trying to master. He raised his head slightly, possibly to project what he said down the table. "You have a much greater chance of success with the Borg. The K'Korll are not approachable. We have a few countermeasures, but they only prevent more severe brain damage. Very few of us have the ability to come within two thousand kilometers of a K'Korll without falling under their influence and developing neurological damage, in some cases permanent damage. These are telepaths with the power to put entire civilizations in their sway. We become their weapons, against each other if necessary."

The resulting silence drew out another few minutes. Troi turned off the hologram and brought up the lights. "Starfleet Command has approved our journey through time and space because they desperately need information -- the nature of the danger the Federation is in has caused great fear -- not just concern -- in all who understand the scope of the situation. This is not a matter of firing phasers or initiating diplomatic contacts. We aren't prepared for this threat, and there are more Beta Quadrant species requesting contact with the Federation all the time -- they want anything from an alliance to food and medical aid, to asylum. There are species who lack a homeworld traveling across parsecs in damaged vessels seeking help. If it continues we'll be overwhelmed by refugees who don't completely understand what they are fleeing from. And at any time, one of the vessels may include one of the K'Korll -- the actual owners of the vessel may not be a threat, but as slaves of a K'Korll for whom they are disposable...."

Picard cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "Do any of you have any questions?"

Janeway was certain there would be many. However, what had been described still overwhelmed her, and no doubt her officers felt pretty much the same. While Picard had mentioned this to her before, he hadn't provided full details. She sighed, glanced at Chakotay, and noted that his frown was not unlike everyone else's. Janeway understood now why Troi had been so evasive, in all the weeks she'd been recuperating. Brooding over this endlessly would have hindered her recovery.

"Are we at risk here, in open space?" Tuvok asked at length.

Troi spoke up to answer. "We currently have several layers of long and short range probes deployed, extending our sensors to three times their range in order to have a fighting chance, should certain inhabitants of the Beta Quadrant notice us."

"We wouldn't have made it," Janeway said, more gravel in her voice than usual. "We had a slim chance of repairing the ship ourselves. With no resources at all...."

"Lucky we ran into some friends," Chakotay said lightly.

It won him a slight smile from Picard. "Any more updates from the _Venture_?" he asked.

"I shaved today," Glendenning put forth gleefully, running a hand down his neatly-trimmed goatee. Three chairs away from him, his medical officer shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Picard gave it a tight smile, nodded in his direction, and dismissed Glendenning and his officers, as well as most of his own. Troi remained, picking up cups and bringing a second round back from the replicator for herself and Picard, while he addressed them again.

"I know that you are all anxious to get home. I wish that I were able to more directly facilitate that."

"We're just grateful you're here, sir," Harry exclaimed. 

"We hope to send you on your way in less than two months, if all goes well." Picard picked up his cup, sipped, and did a quite understated double take. He frowned at Troi. She smiled, took it from him, and returned to the replicator.

"May I be included in the away team you will send to search for our missing crew?" Tuvok asked.

"Dr. Crusher, as I recall, hasn't released you. You're on limited duty until she clears you." Picard took the replacement drink from Troi. It must have met his approval; he put it in front of him and smiled at her.

Then Troi's eyes roamed down the table, as her own smile diminished, and she met Janeway's gaze with a sober expression. Janeway glanced at her crew; Chakotay gave her a slight smile, but Paris and Torres were keeping their eyes studiously focused on nothing, and Kim had a frown, eyebrows drawn together. Tuvok might have appeared dispassionate to anyone else, but Janeway knew him well enough to see the disapproval in his face. About Picard and his first officer?

Janeway felt the urge to rise to their defense, and almost laughed a few seconds later -- how things had changed. The urge to apologize again followed. She glanced at Deanna and found her studying her drink, eyes hidden behind her lashes, a faint smile in place, and Janeway knew she sensed exactly what was going on in the room. 

"We are limited somewhat in what we can provide, in that newer technologies are difficult to graft on an older ship. The Temporal Prime Directive also complicates matters." Picard hadn't noticed, or wasn't responding to, the tension in the room.

"We could always just swap ships," Paris threw out with a grin. 

Picard levelled a long stare at the lieutenant.

"Or not," Paris added, more quietly. 

"I recommend that you all take leave," Troi said. "Even though you no doubt feel a powerful urge to join the efforts to repair _Voyager_ as quickly as possible."

"Yes." Janeway noted the startled looks from her officers. "I want to go into the last leg of our journey home as well-equipped and ready as possible. I expect the crew to take full advantage of the time offered to us-- if I have to make it an order, I will."

"Yes, ma'am," Kim exclaimed with his usual fervor. She grinned at him, and saw echoes of it in the smiles of the others.

"Are there questions we have not addressed?" Picard asked.

A pause, while looks were exchanged. Janeway suspected they were afraid to address their real questions. "I think I can say, on behalf of my entire crew, that we are all in your debt -- thank you, for everything, Captain," she exclaimed. "We need all the help you can give us."

Picard nodded. "I'll be on the bridge if you need anything. Commander?" 

He and Deanna took their cups and left the room at a casual pace. As they went out the door Janeway noticed Deanna glance at the back of Tuvok's head and then meet Janeway's eyes just before stepping out.

She studied her senior officers, a little frustrated, but reminding herself that they were new to the situation, still. "It's good to be together again," she said. "Good to see all of you looking well. I want to hear what's happened in my absence."

"My experience was pretty boring," Paris said. "Also dirty, exhausting and did I mention boring?"

"It sounded like Tuvok's group had more excitement," Chakotay said, turning to look at the Vulcan.

Tuvok's face didn't change. "If being assaulted and injured is 'exciting,' then yes, we had quite a lot of excitement."

"I'm glad you all made it back in one piece. There's time to heal, now that we're all here. I need to check on Lieutenant Wildman," Janeway said. "She had severe injuries."

"I spoke with Dr. Crusher," the Doctor piped up. "The lieutenant will be discharged later today. She'll be on medical leave for another week or so."

"That's good to hear." She paused. "Are there other concerns?"

From their faces, plenty. But no one spoke. Chakotay moved in his chair, elbow nudging Janeway in the ribs - on purpose? "It may be worth mentioning that things are going to change a lot, now that we're on a trajectory we know will succeed."

"Change how?" B'Elanna asked, the anxiety in her eyes doubling. 

"I think we need to get back to regulations."

Someone grumbled, but the words weren't audible. Janeway glanced sharply down the row of officers until someone flinched -- Harry. She watched him for a moment; his dark eyes flicked up, then away from her. 

"I think you're right, Commander," she said, letting her gaze drift. Plenty of time later to address whatever was getting to her young lieutenant, one on one.


	13. Chapter 13

Picard left the briefing room to the _Voyager_ officers and headed for the bridge, Troi following him. "That went as well as we could expect."

"She's right that they need all the help we can give them."

"We have some time -- quite a lot of it, now that we're in this phase of the adventure."

"I hope to spend a bit of that time with my husband," she replied, and even though she was still walking behind him out of his line of sight, he knew she smiled as she said it. A toe-curling, lascivious smile.

"I think we can count on it."

The bridge was attended by the usual complement of officers, but only one senior officer, Mendez, was present. He stood up as they came down from tactical. Picard stopped to face him. "Anything on long range sensors?"

"No, sir. There have been a few small vessels but none came close. I doubt they detected us at all."

"Good. The commander and I will be in my ready room."

"Aye, sir."

They left the bridge to Mendez and took their usual seats. Picard took a moment to look across his desk at her, and smiled.

"Captain?" she queried, more as a reminder to be good than a real question.

"I missed you as well, Commander."

She smiled, tilting her head and almost laughing. "Yes. It's good to have you back, sir. Have you had time to review my reports for the past few weeks?"

"How about giving me a verbal report? I am particularly interested in this recent battle with the Borg that was mentioned last night at dinner."

"About that. Your notes didn't mention it at all, just had instructions to be there before a specific time and date, with the warning that no one would be left on the planet if we were late."

"I didn't have that detail. My notes gave you the information I was given, plus additional information that I sent -- that I will send, as we make our way back to the future, to myself in order to provide them to you at the appropriate time."

Troi made a face. "I really do not like time travel. I hope we don't have to do it again."

"Unless of course it comes about that somehow we end up with two of you."

That won him a grin. "I'm sure I could get twice as much done that way."

"Oh, well, that too."

They were laughing when the annunciator interrupted. He tried to compose himself. "Come in," he called, leaning back and straightening his jacket.

Troi gave Picard a brief look of warning when Chakotay strolled in. She likely sensed something from their guest, but there was no time to tell him what that was. 

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

Picard smiled, gesturing at the empty chair. "I was just trying to get the commander to tell me about her encounter with the Borg. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?"

Chakotay dropped into the chair next to Troi. He hesitated, almost fidgeted, staring down at nothing in particular, deep in thought. But only for a few seconds. His eyes came up, glanced off Picard, and landed on Troi at his left. 

"I was hoping you could tell me -- how she's doing."

"How -- " Troi's confusion and concern were clearly visible in her eyes as she looked at Picard, and he knew the questions she had -- he could have guessed, even if they hadn't been so connected at the moment. 

"Do you have a reason to believe she isn't doing well?" Picard asked.

Another pause. Clearly this wasn't a comfortable subject for him. "She appears to be. Better than I've seen her in a long, long time."

"In what capacity are you requesting this information?" Troi asked. Picard suppressed a smile. She'd gone into teaching mode.

Chakotay regarded her with new wariness. "Capacity?"

"Are you asking as a first officer, requesting information of another officer? Is this a personal request for information?"

Chakotay appealed to Picard with his eyes, obviously surprised by this. When he got no response, he turned back to her. "I'm not sure. Both?"

"You're concerned about her being ready to return to duty. She hasn't, technically. Dr. Mengis hasn't released her from medical leave. He's waiting for my final assessment."

"She didn't say you were -- is that violating confidentiality?"

"You would be the one to enforce removing her from command if necessary. You would need to know that much information to do so." Troi folded her hands in her lap. Her relaxed posture and slight smile triggered what amounted to a sense memory -- Picard found himself stiffening slightly, which he took a few minutes to realize had been his standard reaction to counseling appointments, bracing himself for the kinds of discussion he had, in the now distant past, found so awkward and uncomfortable. Which meant that Counselor Troi had now entered the conversation.

"She said you were a good friend," Chakotay exclaimed, defensive on his captain's behalf.

"I am. Also, I'm an officer doing my duty. Something counsellors do every day in Starfleet, in addition to maintaining therapeutic relationships along with the professional and personal ones."

Another moment of silent evaluation, as Chakotay's demeanor returned to calm and collected. "The delineation between personal and professional is so explicit, for you."

"It always has been. Some officers have thick heads." Her eyes shifted left, from Chakotay to Picard.

Chakotay glanced at Picard, losing tension again when he saw Picard's smirk. "So do you think she's fit for duty?"

"What did you see in her prior to the dispersal of your crew? Did something happen?" Troi asked.

Now Chakotay looked away, considering his response. "The Delta Quadrant happened. The past year in particular has been hell for all of us. All the losses and the damage to _Voyager_ only drove her to be more determined to get us back home. It was as though she thought she could hold it all together by force of will."

Picard could easily imagine the situation -- there had been similar ones for the _Enterprise_ over the years. Impossible circumstances were legion in space, and sometimes starship captains couldn't get their crew out of danger fast enough. Knowing that her crew could grow old, retire, and die around her before getting back to their families had been enough to tempt Janeway into desperate measures, despite her intentions to stay within regulation.

"Determination combined with desperation can influence rational thinking and blind one to possible consequences," Troi said, summing up his thoughts well.

"Yes." It was telling that Chakotay provided no further details.

"To the point of obsession." The statement elicited no obvious response from Chakotay, but then, Troi never needed one. Now there would be an abstract statement that constituted a guess, that she would use to draw him out to see what he would say, either steering him down an avenue she intended him to explore or probing for more information.

But the statement didn't materialize. She waited. One of Picard's least favorite tactics -- at least when used on him.

"I know that there came a point when I should have, under normal circumstances, relieved her of duty. Or had the Doctor do so," Chakotay said at last. "I had to decide whether that would make things better or worse."

"I don't believe that anyone could reasonably expect complete adherence to regulations in what were certainly extraordinary circumstances," Picard said. "It was obvious to me that the opposite is true -- the real concern that the admirals have is bringing you all home alive, and obtaining more information regarding the Alliance. Field commissions, relationships, and anything else that may have developed are beside the point."

"You don't think that the senior staff will undergo debriefings and investigations launched if there is a suggestion of broken regs," Chakotay half-asked, clearly not believing it wouldn't be so.

"I know that there will be." Picard weighed the consequences, thought about it, and went with instinct based on what he'd seen from Chakotay so far. "I am in the process of addressing a probable negative outcome, at the moment, to circumvent an investigation."

It rocked Chakotay back in his chair. Troi stared at Picard -- questions flowed from her to him, silently. She could have probed for information but she waited for him to answer. He waited for Chakotay to react, without answering her intense desire for the rest of the story.

Chakotay recovered enough to speak again. "You have been telling Kathryn things that imply she doesn't have to shy away from intimate relationships. If she doesn't follow through -- if it doesn't happen, there will be a negative consequence, not just for her but for the ship and crew. That's why you're here. Why you didn't just drop her off and leave again, avoiding Temporal Prime Directive issues. Starfleet approves of this endeavor because there's something larger at stake -- a risk to the Federation? It's not just about information, is it?"

"As I said, there are a number of reasons -- "

"But this one is more important. Isn't it? You saw her condition, when you found her. She wouldn't have made it the rest of the way. She needs to -- for some reason you haven't told us." Chakotay lost some of the intensity, as it continued to sink in. "And you won't tell us, because you know what you can say, and what you can't reveal."

Picard resisted responding to it, looked instead to Troi, from whom anger radiated so perceptibly he didn't really need a bond to feel it from where he sat. "I can't tell whether you're about to shoot me or scold me."

"There is a high probability that you are keeping things from me just to irritate me," she blurted. 

"I suppose that might be possible." He'd finally learned, after too many years, to use ambiguity whenever he didn't want to be caught out by her ability to detect a lie.

She looked quite volcanic, red-faced and gripping the arm rests on the chair as if preventing a sudden dismount. She'd shut him out again, as well. Then it all changed -- tension evaporated, and her eyes widened. He wondered if she would start to talk out whatever she was thinking in front of their guest, but as usual, they were interrupted. 

"Fineman to Troi," came the summons.

"Lieutenant," she responded, resigned to whatever fate awaited her in engineering.

"We have a situation -- the cadets," the lieutenant said, as if explaining everything.

"On my way." She pointed at Picard as she rose and turned to go. "Told you."

"So I owe you chocolate. It's not like I would have deprived you anyway."

Chakotay turned back to him from watching her race from the ready room, smiling. "Some things haven't changed, I see."

"Cadet stands for 'chaos and drama everywhere, tirelessly.'" 

He laughed, rolling his eyes. "I see you know Boothby. I learned that from him, too."

"It's one of the things I try to remember when a bureaucrat attempts to make life difficult. Someone at Command understands the power of relationships to affect change. I suspect Boothby has singlehandedly rescued thousands of cadets from themselves, over the years."

"She sounded pretty angry at you. Not sure I could get away with an accusation like that."

"She was frustrated before but accepting my secrecy as necessary, because I told her the truth about that. Now that things are progressing on the intended trajectory, she thinks I'm withholding information just to be difficult, or to test her. I would have confessed to having run out of instructions and being as clueless as she, had she not been called away."

Chakotay's amusement dwindled. "What would you do if I have no interest in a relationship with Kathryn?"

"What if I am merely warning you so you'll not count it as a risk that a first officer has to mitigate, and stay out of the way?"

He winced, stared a moment, and cocked his head. "You're teasing me," he said tentatively.

Picard smiled at that.

"You are," he exclaimed. "I rejoined Starfleet after being thrown across the galaxy, fighting halfway back home, spending a month convinced I would be colonizing the dusty, unpleasant world I'd landed on while Kathryn went off and got herself killed -- and then the _Enterprise_ picks me up, and now I'm being teased by Captain Picard."

"Just another day in Starfleet." He paused, knowing it would result in accusations of switching jobs, but had to ask anyway. "You had to have tried to address Captain Janeway's blind spots, her moods, her less rational moments -- how successful do you anticipate future attempts might be, if nothing changes?"

Chakotay had no ready answer. He seemed to be sinking into a contemplative state, his eyes drifting downward.

The annunciator went off. Picard assented to the interruption, and when the door opened, Janeway came in. When she noticed Chakotay she froze, just for a few seconds, then came to sit on his left in the chair Troi had vacated.

"The captain has a wicked sense of humor," Chakotay complained. Janeway raised both eyebrows.

"I'm sure if any of my senior staff were present, we would be informed that I have been influenced by my wife, to everyone's benefit."

"I'm sure she would scold you for the implication, if she were here." Janeway smiled with him. 

Chakotay tapped his captain's arm. "I hope you're taking notes while you're here."

She almost lost her smile, thinking about that, but it came back again slowly. "I should have been taking pictures. Although I doubt I'll forget much -- talking dogs, playing chess and analyzing 20th century literature with Yves, learning ballet from Amy -- not to mention being treated to ice cream every time Jean-Pierre thinks about it." 

"I was thinking more along the lines of the warp drive. B'E and I got a short tour this morning. She wanted to talk to Batris about the slipstream drive that failed us."

"I was hoping to see the calculations for a Borg temporal vortex, myself." Janeway eyed Picard as if daring him to object.

"It's a nice idea, but I've been told your ship would fall apart in transit without new engines to power the new shields you would need."

"I suppose we could steal the _Venture_."

Janeway actually grinned at Chakotay's joke. "Wouldn't Tom be surprised?"

Picard wasn't so amused. He supposed neither one of them knew that Tom had been gifted with the latest experimental transwarp prototype in his last refit, but it was still quite a coincidence that they were joking about it.

"It would certainly make it easier to fend off the Borg, or the Hirogen." Chakotay said. "But we'll manage, just the same as always."

"I look forward to having the replicators fully functional. Although I think I'll ask if I can take the coffee maker and the coffee beans with me."

"Neelix will need a new job." They exchanged glances, as if this had just sunk in and represented a problem. 

"He's been doing well on security," Janeway mused. "He'll still be able to cook for us if he wants. But I suppose you're right -- people won't be so eager to eat his food if the replicator is freely available to them."

An alert from the computer drew Picard's attention to the console on his left. "It appears _Voyager_ 's shields have been repaired, and those teams are moving on to help the teams assigned to the gel packs."

Janeway sighed. "The luxury of so much assistance. Thank you, Captain."

"You should take advantage of the time to -- " The annunciator again told him someone else wanted to interrupt them. "Come, damn it all," he called out.

Greenman came in, not phased by his cursing. "Sir, the damned phaser array and the damned shields are fully operational again." She passed him a padd. "Permission to resume the damned cadet training as scheduled."

"Permission granted. Stop being so easily influenced by the wrong crowd."

"Just following your damned orders, sir. You did say 'all.'" She grinned. Her hair was nearly shoulder length again, he noticed. She usually wore it pinned up out of the way. "I'd also like to request a change in the damned babysitting schedule? My rotation in ops is ending, so I'll be returning to damned engineering on alpha shift if the commander approves the transfer."

"You'll have to discuss that with her. I'm not certain what the babysitting schedule is any more. The commander appears to be drafting new victims every month."

Natalia sighed, shaking her head. "Amy isn't that bad."

"At least the brainwashing is holding. Scowl at the cadets on my behalf, Lieutenant."

"Aye, sir."

After she left, Janeway gave him a disapproving look. "Is that typical?"

"Of all my officers, no. Natalia came aboard as a cadet. I discovered she is in fact the niece of an old friend, and while she can be overly familiar on occasion, the majority of the time she is an excellent officer."

"So you're the indulgent uncle-by-proxy?" Chakotay asked. 

"Her father was assimilated at Wolf 359. If you were to get her to talk about it, Deanna might connect some residual guilt from that encounter with paternal tendencies that I didn't like to acknowledge. Nat came aboard before we were married."

"That long ago?"

"She has a goal of taking Mendez' position for a while before transferring. deLio  
isn't budging, for other reasons."

Janeway nodded. "I met the four L'norim children. Yves said something about being obligated somehow."

"They're the only L'norim family in the fleet. Previously only unattached males -- well, that's not an accurate label, they really don't have male or female -- were allowed to enlist. The four genders are quite different in personality, and only three are suitable for Starfleet service. The _ghifirin_ defy description. If you come to the picnic tomorrow you'll meet zeRia."

"A picnic?" She turned to Chakotay. "I haven't been at a picnic since I don't remember when."

"We take opportunities when we get them. Holodeck six, midday. Everyone is invited. All the children will be there." Picard reached for his neglected drink.

"That sounds wonderful," Janeway exclaimed. "What program are we picnicking in?"

"No idea. I suspect it will be an interesting environment chosen by the whimsy of the older children."

A short high-pitched tone sounded, followed by Deanna's voice over the comm system. "Lockdown. This is only a drill. Mark!"

Picard grimaced and left his desk, dropping to one knee and reaching for a panel below the replicator.

"What is it?" Janeway exclaimed.

"Monthly drill." He rose and placed the case he'd retrieved on the end of his desk. "This will be one of the upgrades you're receiving, just in case. The hyposprays are color coded for different species."

"What is -- this is one of the countermeasures you mentioned, to protect us from the K'Korll," Janeway said, looking at the four tubes in the box. "Medication?"

"Protection. The formula and dosage varies, but they all accomplish the same thing. They reduce the damage caused by contact with the K'Korll. This is particularly important for anyone who might be in command." Leaving the case on the desk, he led them out to the bridge.

The officers on duty were leaving their stations and heading up to the lift. A few seconds after each officer stepped away from their post, their console went dark. 

Janeway's head swiveled and she gave Picard an incredulous stare.

"The sole purpose of the lockdown protocol is to remove the ship from proximity to the K'Korll. All bridge stations, transporters and weapons lockers are locked down. Once evacuated, engineering is sealed as well. The computer activates a specific program that directs the ship to retreat toward Federation space at maximum warp. There are subroutines to address other issues that might crop up during the lockdown, however, once the ship is removed from the affective range of the K'Korll, the bridge is unsealed and the program shut down."

"And this has been installed in _Voyager_? Is this an automatic reaction to the proximity of the K'Korll?" Janeway was having a difficult time with it. 

"No, it has to be initiated by the officer of the watch. The K'Korll are most concerned about control of the higher ranking officers, so this countermeasure keeps command staff from attempting to surrender the ship into the hands of some of the more malicious species in the area. All ranks above lieutenant are to report to sickbay -- one of the symptoms possible would be noncompliance with orders, and all of us on the _Enterprise_ understand quite well how important this particular procedure is."

"What about the immunity of some species?" Chakotay asked. "I would think that Vulcans would be able to shield themselves adequately. I'm not so comfortable with having the computer in complete control in an emergency."

Picard nodded. He took a few steps toward the center of the bridge. "I had my reservations, however, the _Enterprise_ has an excellent computer. As to resistant species, L'norim are not invulnerable, but much less controllable than most. The few Vulcans we have aboard are not in positions that would make them ideal for bridge duty. They are, however, more resistant than most. Betazoids, on the other hand, are extremely vulnerable."

"Installing this in our ship is a significant violation of the Temporal Prime Directive," Chakotay exclaimed.

Picard turned around, an eyebrow raised, and waited.

"The risk is such that Command is allowing it," Janeway said softly. 

"When you get to the Alpha Quadrant, you'll have to destroy them all, before other Starfleet personnel come aboard." Picard tried not to think about the past, and to not consider rewriting it for himself; this was about saving millions of lives, saving Janeway's crew and the entire Federation, not altering the rest of the timeline. "And you'll have to keep any logs or records of our interference out of your computer."

"You said Command wanted information," Chakotay said.

"Yes. Whatever we collect here, and whatever you collect on the way home, as you would otherwise have done."

The red warning lights ceased blinking and the comm system pinged for attention. "End of drill. All personnel return to your duty stations."

Picard started to lead them up the bridge. "I'll have the commander give your staff a full orientation -- "

"Troi to Picard."

"Yes, Commander?"

"The drill was mostly uneventful, except for the captain's failure to report to sickbay."

"I was waiting for you to rescue me."

Troi's sigh was accompanied by a bark of laughter, quickly stifled, but identifiable as Natalia. Janeway and Chakotay exchanged grins. "I'll be in holodeck two with the cadets. Troi out."

"Since we're having vacation imposed upon us, why don't we go find an empty holodeck?" Chakotay suggested. 

"Sounds good to me." Janeway turned to Picard. "I originally came to ask whether you minded my using one of the larger conference rooms for an official reunion of my crew, once the last remaining crew have been recovered. Tom told me he heard from his away teams, and they're on the way back to us. They should be back by the end of Alpha shift."

"Not at all. Feel free to appropriate whatever you need." Picard headed for the lift, which opened to deliver the bridge crew. Janeway and Chakotay joined him. Janeway clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head as the lift started to move.

"Something wrong, Captain?" Chakotay asked.

Janeway took a moment to respond. She raised her head and glanced at Chakotay and Picard, her slight smile giving away little. "I have these moments when I think about the past few years and all the battles and difficulties, and it almost seems unreal. And then it feels all too real, and thinking about going on alone, without help. . . . The dread of another battle, being outnumbered and outgunned with no hope of backup, feels almost overwhelming."

Picard reoriented his eyes on the door. It sounded quite familiar, but saying what came to mind wouldn't be prudent at this time, he decided. 

"I think we'll make it," Chakotay said. "We wouldn't be here on the _Enterprise_ if we didn't make it."

Janeway's eyes sparkled as she turned to Picard. He smiled, thinking how different she was from the emaciated woman he'd seen in the cell. "He's right, you know," he said.

"I'll probably say it many times before we're done -- thank you, Jean-Luc. For everything."

Picard kept the smile in place, wondering if she would still thank him, after all was said and done.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, a substantial piece of the conversation was left out of this chapter - a tragic cut and paste issue, I guess. It should make more sense now.

Janeway arrived in the captain's private dining room on deck two slightly late, to find Deanna had just seated herself with her lunch.

"Sorry I'm late. I got a little too involved in the holodeck. I went for a walk with Chakotay and lost track of time."

Deanna smiled at her, a little too happily. "That's a good thing."

Janeway ordered a substantial salad from the replicator and brought it to the round table beneath the large sloping viewports. The captain's dining room on the _Enterprise_ could have easily housed the bridge of _Voyager_ with room for the briefing room. Outside, the stars filled the view; the other two ships were not visible.

"I'm curious about something. Are you still of the opinion that I'm trying to teach you something?"

Janeway paused in picking up her fork. "It just seemed as though some things were... speaking to me, loudly. As if I were being targeted. I supposed later on that you might be acting on requests I had made."

"The general request was to make you aware, I thought." Deanna took a moment to chew and swallow. "I think I understand what's happening. Confirmation bias. Jean-Luc set you up for it, talking to you about fraternization, and when you found out about us that night at dinner, you started to look for more attempts to convince you that fraternization was acceptable. Whether you were defensive or seeking confirmation of it, you were almost hypervigilant looking for it. I was simply trying to answer questions and include you -- the children love you."

Janeway smiled ruefully. "But you did teach me quite a bit, just the same."

Deanna took a bite, looking at her quizzically. 

"I still have questions, however."

"About?" Deanna took another bite. 

"He said something about the crew being happy for him. Isn't it a rather large crew to be so uniformly _anything_?"

"He probably said officers. The senior officers are more important to the operation of the ship at large, so their opinions influencing their behavior on duty are more important. The opinions of junior officers are less so. The power differential is notable -- senior officers can go over the captain's head, if they perceive him to have become a liability to the crew. Of course, they are also most likely to be the captain's friends, and I can say that it's been a rare occurrence to have senior staff be difficult in such a manner. Only two temporary officers have caused any conflict for Jean-Luc -- and while Gregory was initially a challenge, over time we reached a more comfortable place with him. He never said a word against our relationship regardless, however."

"He did say officers." Janeway thought about it as she ate. "Do you think that Jean-Luc's reputation had anything to do with Command's acceptance of his choice?"

Deanna went still, putting down her fork, folding her hands in her lap. She even closed her eyes. Janeway was on the verge of apologizing when she responded. "Yes."

"Is something wrong?"

Another pause. "Perceptions and realities sometimes differ. He believed it had to do with needing experienced captains. I think it had more to do with dropping enrollment numbers, the likelihood of the media making the most of Starfleet interfering in the life of one of its more famous starship captains, and also with needing him to stay in Starfleet. It influenced the situation in other ways as well -- I've told him before that his reputation had an effect on how others perceive me, or my efficacy as an officer, my level of expertise, and that our personal relationship would work against that."

"And he was angry at you," Janeway exclaimed. "As well he should be. You're an excellent officer."

Deanna paused again, the set of her mouth telling Janeway that she'd made a misstep. "I can say that I am proficient now. Confident, perhaps even excellent. I knew, because I had a career of assessing other officers, that I was not so good in the beginning. I knew that my performance after we became lovers would be considered a direct reflection on him, even more so than before. It was difficult not to argue with him -- I knew I was correct, and that he didn't want to accept it. He knew, but he didn't want to think about it or allow it to influence his behavior. It was one of the few things I've had to face on my own, in our relationship."

Deanna looked almost tearful as she spoke. Janeway forgot about her lunch, leaned forward, and put a hand on Deanna's arm. "You still feel so strongly about it -- "

The burning glare from Deanna shocked her. It faded rapidly -- Deanna closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. "I'm sorry. Perhaps Jean-Luc is correct. I've become too sensitive about some things. I've survived my mother's disapproval of it all, and the questions and criticisms of officers all the way up to admiral, and the scathing looks -- it wasn't so long ago that we had an admiral aboard who was more outspoken than usual about it.... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so emotional about it. It's been a little difficult since this adventure started." 

"No, not at all," Janeway exclaimed, stroking her arm, trying to comfort. "It sounds like he had a lot of time to think while he was on _Venture_."

"The separation didn't help matters, that's true." Deanna's forced smile looked brittle. "It only gets more difficult each time. He's revisiting the idea of promotion, which is his way of expressing how it affected him -- wanting to put an end to the possibility of being separated again."

It seemed to Janeway that Picard might very well have been thinking of several different kinds of separation, as well. But she shoved that thought away as it emerged -- she had no way of knowing what Deanna could be picking up from her at any time. 

"It's certainly what I would have expected," Janeway said. She waited until the puzzled knitting of Deanna's brows reached its peak. "From what I've seen of you so far, I think you're fairly evenly matched in masochistic introspection."

Laughter burst from Deanna -- some of it was laugh-or-cry, Janeway thought, laughing with her and hoping that it would be enough. Eventually they subsided and went back to eating, but amusement lingered in Deanna's smile.

Janeway broke the silence. "I know that some of my officers were upset about something in the meeting his morning. I'm going to have a talk with them, one on one, before...."

Deanna's sober regard startled her into silence. The silence lasted a few moments. "Kathryn," she began, putting down her fork. "I want you to understand -- although we are encouraging you not to deprive yourself of close relationships that you want, we aren't trying to imply that it will be without pitfalls."

"Your doctor and counselor made it sound like this bond you have saves your lives, repeatedly," Janeway said. "I know that it's not at all the same for us, but we've managed so far, looking out for each other. I'm not sure about the rest, yet, but I think we have a chance. Being here, seeing how you both have the sort of happiness that's hard to find in relationships anywhere.... It's not easy, I can see that, but it's...."

Deanna appeared to be studying the salad in front of her. "It's what you want," she said at last. 

"What I've wanted, for longer than I cared to admit. I was engaged before I ended up in the Delta Quadrant. I clung to that until I received the message from Mark telling me he'd moved on with his life. It didn't break my heart -- I think I was expecting it to hurt more than it did. That was what helped me see.... I've been afraid, and using regulations to protect myself. I was angry, on _Venture_ , because seeing Tom and Beverly that way took away my shield, admitting that it was something I read into regulations and not something real."

"I'm glad you've been able to get through your fear -- I can tell it's made him happy, in addition to how much happier you've been since he got here." Deanna's subdued smile raised concerns, however. 

"But?"

"Do you trust him?"

It caught her off guard completely. "What? Of course!"

"Not in the line of duty."

Janeway thought about it. "I'm not so much like Jean-Luc that I need that much protection."

Deanna now regarded her solemnly, which set off an alarm. "Captain," she said.

"Yes, Commander?" Why was Deanna sidestepping into rank?

"Do you believe you need counseling?"

It triggered a long sequence of thoughts, accompanied at first by outrage, anger, defensiveness, hurt, even betrayal -- but she caught herself, remembering and interpreting what Picard had said. It was obvious, considering all that they had told her, that Deanna and Jean-Luc had done this many times before for each other. It occurred to Janeway that the only reason Deanna would have asked the question would be that she believed Janeway did need the help. And so she stepped back from her feelings and thought about the past few years from the perspective of a counselor assessing a captain who'd been in the Delta Quadrant fighting for her life, her crew's lives, her ship, while simultaneously trying to get them all across the galaxy.

"I don't feel like I do. But I have to say that if it were one of the crew, I'd be recommending it."

"Would you, if Chakotay suggested it?"

Janeway fought back another surge of anger -- no, this time it was fear. This was starting to sound like a counselor assessing her for fitness for duty. "Deanna...."

"Captain." 

So it was a matter of duty, Janeway admitted at last, and the emotions were beside the point. She reined it in. Swallowed it. Took a breath. "If there were grounds for it. Yes."

"Would you, if he was suggesting it as a friend?"

"Or a lover? It depends on why he's suggesting it."

"Would you go on your own, without prompting, if you knew your relationship -- either of them -- with Chakotay were at risk if you did not?"

Janeway blinked. "Is this what they ask you, in assessments? Is this what officers in relationships have to look forward to? It doesn't seem that bad. I may not enjoy counseling, but it's really not the sort of thing that's intended to be fun, after all. There is usually a good reason to engage in therapy, and I think I would trust -- ah. Yes, I would trust him not to push me into something I didn't need. I'd consider it, hopefully objectively as I could be. I've certainly given him enough reason for concern in the past."

Deanna's expression didn't shift. "Do you know what the symptoms of trauma are?"

"Nightmares, depression, anxiety, hypervigilance. Sleep disturbances. Sometimes flashbacks." Janeway thought about it a little more, with some chagrin.

"You were depressed, malnourished, and nearly skeletal when we found you. Dr. Mengis kept you sedated for several weeks because he knew you would be agitating to leave sickbay too soon. He still has you on medical leave, you know."

"Yes," Janeway said. "I intended to talk to him about that today. But I don't think he will answer the way I would like."

"You've been lightheaded, dizzy at times, feeling as though you are viewing things from a distance. Feeling numb, at times. That would be disassociation. Talking about the past triggers memories you set aside quickly because of the level of disturbance they cause for you."

Janeway nodded slowly. She had to acknowledge the truth -- it felt like a weight in her stomach. 

"You have been persevering for the past five years, running on sheer determination, while everything became more difficult -- supplies chronically low, malfunctions that can't be fixed because there are no Starfleet bases to acquire parts or refits. Enemies that outgun or outmaneuver you, because the ship needs repairs or hasn't the weaponry or shielding to meet the need. Crew die, or are injured, or even turn against you because they lack your determination -- discouragement and despair among the ranks can be an enemy as well, and you had no way of countering that. Because it's obvious that the ship is falling apart around you, the distance to the Alpha Quadrant is still too great, and the locals are not all friendly or willing to help."

Deanna's summary triggered memory after memory, and Janeway found herself adrift again, light-headed, trying not to be dragged into the past. 

"Look at me."

The words got her attention, but Deanna's hand on her wrist released her from the cascade of memories. She met Deanna's eyes and found that Betazoid eyes could trap her. 

"I can help you, if you trust me and give me permission. You have symptoms that need to be addressed before you can be released from medical leave. You can meet with Davidson while we're repairing your ship, or you can let me help you. My method will be more likely to succeed in the limited time we have."

"I'd rather work with you," Janeway said. "You mean counseling?"

"No. I couldn't do that, with a close friend. I do consider you that. This is something different."

"Something... telepathic?"

Deanna nodded, still not smiling. "I collaborated with a Betazoid neurosurgeon to develop a method of helping others recover from the influence of the K'Korll. It also works quite well to resolve trauma of all kinds."

"Is it invasive? Does it result in reliving everything?"

"As you recall the traumatic events, the affected region of the brain activates -- that allows me to target it and prompt the reprocessing of the memory, so it no longer disturbs you. The memory is intact, but does not cause a maladaptive level of distress."

Something in the weary way she explained it told Janeway it wasn't her favorite thing to do. Janeway weighed the options with that in mind. "It sounds to me as though the process would be exhausting for you. Perhaps I should talk to -- "

"Kathryn, please don't base your decision on my frustration. If I were unwilling or unable, I would not suggest it." Deanna sighed and gave her a wavering smile. "As it turns out, the procedure is not something telepathy can do, so I'm in demand. Starfleet has been sending me high profile clients, as my clearance is adequate to probe the minds of higher ranks, unlike the majority of the currently-enlisted empaths."

"So your frustration is being pulled away from your job?"

"Not to say that I wouldn't want to help -- but it is rather draining and time-consuming. In your case, we can likely skip the assessment phase. You've told me quite a lot, and I can tell you have a very good idea of which events you should be processing. But the accumulated trauma will take multiple sessions in sickbay."

Janeway thought about it. "We won't be talking it through, then?"

"I won't access the content of the memory, either -- the process is not about understanding what happened. Talk therapy would accomplish the same thing, over time, using your thought processes to rewrite engrams instead of directly shifting the memory and corresponding emotion. I can show you what's involved, if you'd like."

Which led to heading for sickbay, where Mengis greeted them and upon finding out why they were there, performed a brief exam since he had the opportunity. He then brought up a display on one of the biobed monitors. The computer would, he explained, monitor both her and Deanna's brain activity. They would each be on a bed, and he would be ready to intervene if needed, as sometimes the patient would react -- there had been one heart attack, so far, and a number of anxiety attacks. Then he started to detail what would happen during treatment, in clinical terms describing specific chemical changes, until Deanna stopped him.

"I suppose that level of information isn't necessary," he said. The fond look he gave Deanna, subtle though it was, argued against his being an android that endlessly explained details, Janeway thought.

"But it's nice to know you know what you're doing," Janeway said.

"The commander hasn't failed yet." Mengis smiled at Deanna. "Are you beginning today?"

"I think we will start with hour sessions," Deanna said, looking to Kathryn for her approval. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Is an hour typical?"

"It will tell us how you respond to the procedure, and you can decide whether you want to tolerate longer sessions to accelerate the process."

"My schedule for tomorrow morning is quite open." Kathryn smiled at both of them.

"Nine hundred?" Mengis suggested.

"I can manage nine hundred hours," Deanna said. "We'll be here. Thank you, Greg."

Janeway followed Deanna from sickbay, slowing with her as they walked along the corridor. 

"So what did our doctor and counselor tell you about us?" 

It caught her off guard. "Frankly, I was a bit shocked they even answered the question -- I admit that it was nosy of me, but I asked if there had been any repercussions for either of you, as a result of your relationship."

Deanna stopped in her tracks and turned to face Janeway. Her expression was unreadable. After a frustrating silence, during which Janeway stood her ground without a fidget, Deanna looked away, a slight frown appearing. Then she met Janeway's eyes.

"They had to be taking their cues from me. It was my fault. Did you get the answer you expected?"

"No. Although at that point I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Deanna, I'm sorry."

Finally, a bit of a smile. "Don't worry about it, Kathryn. I don't mind that you know. You would have known about the bond, anyway. We just don't talk about it openly."

"I'm glad you confronted me, instead of Davidson. It would have been more awkward -- I don't know him."

Deanna's dark eyes widened, and the ghost of a smile disappeared. For a moment, Janeway worried. "Would you have told me the truth even if I weren't Betazoid?"

"Of course!" Belatedly, Janeway made the connection. "I know that there were times I hit bottom, and I should have let them help me. I know now, thanks to you, that hitting the bottom could have been avoided -- that I would have done better, if I hadn't overcompensated for the situation by choosing to isolate myself."

At last, Deanna smiled, then surprised Janeway by taking a step forward and pulling her into a hug -- a brief one, but affectionate. She pulled away and turned to continue walking sedately toward the lift. 

"Thank you."

"For?" Janeway fell in step with her.

"For being one of the few captains I've met who didn't require more patience than my children."

"Oh, come now," Janeway exclaimed. But she didn't have time to follow up with it.

"I have a training exercise scheduled for some cadets in about half an hour," Deanna said. "Want to join us?"

Janeway grinned. "What sort of exercise?"

"I'm putting them through a first contact simulation. I think your insight would be most beneficial to helping them develop a more informed perspective. This is a group of Command school students -- some of them have an idea they will be the next Captain Janeway."

Janeway burst out laughing. "Oh, no, no. That just won't do."

"It's not really an exaggeration. It's how some of them think -- wanting to outdo Captain Picard, or Kirk, or Janeway, or any of the other captains that Starfleet hold up to excite cadets to aspirations of high adventure and heroism." 

Janeway sobered, gestured at the turbolift. "Well, lead on, then. I have some disillusioning to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If, in reading about Deanna's way of handling trauma, you find yourself wishing that it might be real... go find an EMDR practitioner. Therapists, psychologists and social workers have been using EMDR to effectively treat trauma for more than 25 years. While it is not so cut and dried as having a Betazoid manipulate your memories, it is quite effective. EMDR stands for eye movement desensitization and reprocessing -- I have experienced it, and I use it, and it works when the protocol is followed and the client is honest and willing to temporarily experience the strong emotions it can bring up, in order to finally find peace with the memories that trouble them. I even used it with someone who did not believe it would work but was willing to try it. It worked!
> 
> There is also, by the way, such a thing as confirmation bias. We all do it. An extensive explanation is here: http://psychology.about.com/od/cognitivepsychology/fl/What-Is-a-Confirmation-Bias.htm


	15. Chapter 15

Picard entered his quarters and heard the shower, and went straight to the bathroom. "Dee?"

The shower went off, and the shadow behind the translucent barrier moved around to become Deanna, her wet hair ropy and dripping down her back. She reached for a towel. She was smiling happily, glancing at him while she dried off, but after a few moments of silence it turned to amusement. 

"I don't remember the last time you were speechless."

"Well, perhaps I need to step in while you're in the shower more often." Ridiculous, as he did so often enough already.

She approached slowly and they met, lips to lips, their arms finding their way to the usual places. It was a long indulgent kiss, but they both knew it had to end and she had to get dressed. They parted with a sigh and he preceded her into the bedroom where a fresh uniform waited on the foot of the bed. He waited until she emerged with dry hair, then watched her dress and sit at the dressing table to do her hair.

"Did I mention how good it is to be home?" As if the first dozen times he had mentioned it were not enough.

"Well...." Her reflection in the mirror smiled while she brushed out her curls, a chore that required more time now that her hair was long enough to reach her hips. "I did have the impression you're happy to be here."

"How did cadet training go?"

"We had a challenging drill with mixed results. Some of them are quite stubborn about wanting to prove themselves -- it took some of them a while to stop resisting group tasks."

"The Command school graduates?"

"Yes. Kathryn helped me get them to think about the value of teamwork. Does the Academy expect to promote leadership by encouraging individualism?"

"I think what they expect and what they get are often two separate things. Perhaps when you're running the Academy you could change that."

She finished coiling most of her hair on the back of her head and pinned it in place. "When?" she echoed dubiously.

"You'd be good at it."

"I would be good at a lot of things." Deanna stared into the mirror, at his reflection. "Are you thinking about this seriously?"

"I'd like to talk about it."

She sat like a statue for long silent minutes. Finally, she turned the chair around and folded her hands in her lap. "Do you have a specific plan, now?"

"I don't. Nor do I think it should be a quick decision or an immediate exit. But I think -- "

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and the fear in them made him hesitate. Had he really underestimated the impact this would have?

"I think the children need time dirtside," he said softly. "They need to be comfortable there, and I don't think being raised entirely in space would be conducive to helping them do that."

The fear subsided. She stared at him a while longer, though. "And?"

"Being at Command would give me more time to spend with my wife."

It was supposed to make her smile. Instead, she dropped her gaze, as if suddenly interested in the carpet. It was true -- he actually found the idea of having more time with her to be more of a motivation than the children's education. 

"I suppose I could take them to Earth and leave you with the _Enterprise_ ," he said evenly, as if it were a possibility.

"Jean," she exclaimed, exasperated.

"You could get a newer ship -- there are some nice ones coming out next year."

Deanna gave him a wonderful look of insulted disdain. "Jean-Luc!"

"Are you seriously not wanting to discuss this?"

"I want to table it until we have more time. I have to be on the bridge. You should be heading for the gym, getting your exercise, on schedule. You had a schedule, remember?" She reached for the pips on the dressing table. "I want to think about it."

"I want a lot of things, at the moment."

It got her to smile, though it was more of a smirk. "Keep your uniform on, cher fish."

"As you wish."

Deanna stood up, turned around, came to stand toe to toe with him, and her bland expression didn't prepare him for the distress in her eyes. "What I wish," she murmured.

"Yes?"

She swayed toward him, placing her cheek against his, her hand wrapping over his shoulder. Though he'd been aware of how open they had been to each other all day, she turned it up a notch, and the fear he'd seen in her moments ago rolled through him, accompanied by the thought process behind it. 

"Dee," he whispered. "You know."

"I do. Doesn't matter."

"Losing a captain only means you're gaining an admiral."

"I know it will happen. I know why. I know you'll miss it, almost as much as I will. And I will miss Captain Picard." She backed away, swiping her fingers across her cheeks rapidly and trying to compose herself. 

"Admiral Picard is twice as handsome, I hear." It didn't help; she not only didn't smile, she wouldn't look at him. "We're not leaving tomorrow. I don't expect it will take any less than three years to sort it all through, where we want to be, what we want to do."

Deanna shook her head -- pushing away the topic, for now. She turned to look in the mirror again, gave her reflection a once-over, and shot him a stern look. He left the bedroom and she followed.

As if nothing at all had happened, she said, "Kathryn will be here to meet with Yves soon. He enjoys her company."

"That's what he told me. Understandable. He seems to prefer the company of adults." Rather than take the conversation into the corridor, Picard hesitated just inside the door, turning to look at her again.

Deanna stopped in front of him and sighed. "Yes. Especially now that the chaotic emotions of other children are so difficult and overwhelming for him. I had a similar reaction." Her face fell into an expression of woe.

"Dee," he murmured.

She frowned.

"He's not you. We won't let anyone traumatize him."

Deanna let him hug her, though this time she didn't seem to be so upset that tears threatened. He breathed her scent, slight as it was, and kissed the soft skin beneath her ear.

When they parted, he looked into her eyes and brushed her cheek with his knuckles in an attempt to bring her smile back. As usual, she rewarded him with exactly what he wanted, down to the glow in her eyes and the dimple in her right cheek. 

"Let's go. We have a ship to run and another to repair."

He smiled, tilting his head a little. "Ship?"

"There you are." The other dimple came into play when the smile turned into a grin. "I haven't seen the mischief-making boy in a while."

"Thinking about spending a long vacation chasing you around a beach must have brought him out of hiding."

"Is that really what's motivating you to think about retirement?"

"Partly, I suppose. Sometimes it feels like we'll never get a day off. Although having _Voyager_ to take care of is giving us a reprieve." And there was the door to the next thing he wanted to address. "You were talking to Janeway at lunch -- did everything resolve? You were sharing some interesting emotions with me." Fortunately, Yves didn't seem to be able to sense emotions across more than two decks, or Picard was sure he would have been paged down to the school.

"It concerned me that she thought I was trying to teach her something. She seemed so wary, most of the time, before you arrived."

"I think I may have been a bit heavy-handed, trying to counter her reaction to Tom and Beverly. She overreacted to discovering they are together."

She studied him, thinking but not sharing it with him. Protecting confidentiality, he realized. "She mentioned that. We talked quite a lot, and she doesn't appear to be so wary. Accepting of her own feelings, now. I also have her ready to be treated for trauma."

"I'm glad to hear that. Good for her." His smile waned a little. "You offered her the shortcut, didn't you?"

Deanna's weary expression answered the question. "If I made her go through counseling, it would take a long time. We can't afford that."

"At least we're not in the middle of something that requires a lot of our attention -- when are the appointments? I can help you, after."

It surprised him, sometimes, that she still made no assumptions about his willingness to help her; at this point it was a given that recovery was quicker for either of them if they were able to spend time together, but her joyful expression said that she hadn't intended to count on that. Picard was tempted to reach for her, waited for her to react to sensing that from him, and accepted her choice to remain standing apart with crossed arms. 

"Nine hundred hours tomorrow. Her willingness should help speed up the process. I may be able to finish in a week, if she can tolerate longer sessions."

"I'll make sure to stock up on massage oil."

"That would be heavenly." Her face softened, and she dropped her gaze while thinking for a moment. "We're using this conversation to delay going back to work. I want to spend time with you, too."

"We should delay discussing future plans until we've recovered from being so far apart. It's obviously affecting our work as well."

"Yes," she said, bringing her eyes up but not meeting his gaze. "But, aside from that, it's hard to claim we're able to keep our personal and professional lives separate, any more, because we really don't. Because we don't have to. We know that we are doing our jobs, and so we relax, let humor or affection leak into our bridge time, or even missions. Our crew trusts us as implicitly as the crew of the 1701-D trusted you. The new officers fall into line quickly because our staff are intolerant of any suggestion of impropriety on our part."

"If that's true, we've reached a dangerous stage of the relationship. Faith can be blinding."

She tilted her head. "If you're thinking about it that way, instead of being defensive and denying the risk, perhaps it isn't so dangerous."

He chuckled at it. "Vive le évolution."

"We've delayed long enough. Talk later?"

"Yes." Picard sighed again. His hand followed an impulse and hers responded, their fingers twining together, and when he turned his head slightly and leaned she met him halfway for the light brush of their lips. 

He tugged his jacket straight and led the way out of the bedroom, knowing that she fell in step behind him as they exited their quarters. In the corridor they walked together toward the lift. He thought again about the trajectory of their relationship, how many times he had been anxious that something would happen -- that she might leave, that something would happen to one of them, that they would be unable to manage balancing career with family. And as he did so, he knew it amused her. Unvoiced laughter rippled silently between them. 

The lift doors closed, and they stood together with several feet of space between them, but feeling the closeness of the other just the same. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed her slight smile. His was likely the same, he guessed.

{Not so slight. You've always had difficulty with that.}

"Well, that figures," he grumbled as the lift doors opened. Of course, the next instant he realized they hadn't given the computer a destination -- but the ensign coming in saved them from embarrassment by asking for deck four. When the young lady -- 

{Yes, I know, you have socks older than her.}

\-- departed the lift, he waited until the doors were closed again to send them to the bridge. 

{I believe I also have socks older than you.}

That turned her head, brought out both dimples, and he smirked at her, then they both laughed. 

By the time the doors opened again, they'd managed to settle down. But from the canny smile Mendez gave him, Picard was still having the same old problem with his inability to stop smiling after spending time with his wife.

Ah, well. 

"You have the bridge, Commander," he said, heading for his ready room without a backwards glance.


	16. Chapter 16

Janeway listened to Tom Paris' summary of how much of the repair work on the bridge had been finished. She'd come over to _Voyager_ to see how things were going, get a look at some of the repairs, swearing to herself she would just look, only to find she wasn't alone in her excitement at having their ship back to normal. Being able to see the ship with all the lights on, thanks to _Venture_ 's loan of power, had been enough to make Janeway smile all on its own. The cleaning crews were busy, as well. Some of the rooms and corridors were jammed with people and their machines, vacuuming and buffing.

The impromptu staff meeting in their own briefing room was intended to be short, more of a reunion, but the small upgrades across the board made her crew happy, excited, after months of workarounds and patches and jury-rigged equipment. Even the Doctor had attended, waxing eloquent about the new instruments and repairs to his sickbay. 

"I wish they could give us new engines," B'Elanna said wistfully at the end of her husband's report. 

"That would be nice, but we're already ahead of the game with the resupply and repair," Janeway said. She would have gone on, but noticed Harry's expression. "Is something wrong, Mr. Kim?"

"No, ma'am." He didn't look at her, though, and didn't sound at all cheerful.

"Harry," she chided, letting herself give an affectionate reprimand. 

He sat back, finally turning toward her from his seat four chairs away. "I was just thinking about Neelix and the others."

"We're not leaving them behind, Harry," Chakotay reminded him. "Captain Glendenning sent out several runabouts to search for our missing crew at the same time he sent a scout to find a suitable place to ground _Voyager_."

"Where is Seven?" the Doctor asked suddenly.

Janeway exchanged glances with Chakotay, then smiled at the Doctor. "She's spending some time on the _Enterprise_. I'm hoping it will help her be less afraid of the Alpha Quadrant."

"I'm having a few fears of my own," B'Elanna muttered. Since she was sitting next to Chakotay on Janeway's left, Janeway heard it plainly. She paused, rose from her chair, put her hands behind her back, and slowly circled the small briefing room.

"To be honest, I'm anxious, too," she said. "I can't begin to guess how many things have changed -- how the Dominion War has affected the Alpha Quadrant. The message I received from Admiral Paris was encouraging, but almost devoid of details about home. It sounds like we will be back just in time to be on the forefront of the difficulties with what's left of the Randra Alliance, too."

"What about the Maquis?" That it was Harry asking, and not one of the former Maquis, gave Janeway a surge of pride. 

"Captain Picard told us not to worry about that," Chakotay said.

"I know he's a living legend and all, but can we trust that? He doesn't control the admirals. How does he know what they'll do?" B'Elanna asked.

Janeway felt defensive on Picard's behalf. She tried not to let it change her expression. "I trust him. He's not here to put us together so we can all return to be locked up, court martialed, or demoted." She turned to the viewport, which afforded her a decent view of both Sovereign class ships -- the _Enterprise_ from below, as it idled along above them, and the long saucer section of _Venture_ stretched out ahead of them from below. While she looked a runabout dropped out of warp and angled in to enter _Venture_ 's main shuttle bay.

"I think we've been trained by the Delta Quadrant to be suspicious of everything." Chakotay's voice had a smile in it. "Actual Starfleet vessels show up and pull us all together, offer to put our ship together, throw parties for us and do all the repair work while insisting we take time off, and all we can do is think about what the higher ups will do to us when we get home."

"The captain did say Starfleet is aware of this situation. We sent them our logs. All we've had in return is encouragement." Janeway returned to the head of the table and leaned on the back of the chair she'd been sitting in. 

"I've been chatting with some of the crew from both ships," Paris said. "It sounds like the war and the Borg have decimated the fleet. Maybe they want us back so they can recruit us again. They need officers. Think of it, Harry, catch up on promotions and you can have your own ship!"

"Glendenning to Janeway," came the summons Janeway hoped for. "We're beaming some of your lost ones over to you. Transporter room two, I believe."

"Acknowledged. Thank you, Tom," she exclaimed, smiling again. 

"Hey, any time, gorgeous." The chirp announcing the end of the communication coincided with some double-takes all around.

"Captain Glendenning is not what you could call standard issue," Janeway said.

"Indeed," Tuvok said quietly. Again, Janeway had the impression he was not happy at all. She glanced around the table -- Harry still looked a little unhappy. 

"Is anyone concerned about anything else?" Janeway asked. "I only ask because I know that this ship, this crew, is different than we expect -- it's from the future, after all."

"You mean, are we a little surprised that a captain married his first officer?" Harry mumbled. 

And that would be the heart of it, though she suspected there was more to it. While she carefully considered how to respond Paris jumped in.

"I don't think it's made a difference."

"How would you know that?" A little more acid under Harry's response.

"Maybe because we've been spending time with their crew?" B'Elanna said. "I asked their engineer -- he's had three promotions on this ship, and he's been chief engineer since the previous one was promoted off to be first officer on the Reliant. He won't talk about the captain's relationship with the first officer, but he did talk about his relationship with both of them. He said we can't judge the crew based on what we see in meetings or off duty time."

"It's not our place to judge," Chakotay said. "It's clear that despite accusations and an attempted court-martial, Starfleet can't find any reason to interfere in the captain's personal affairs. He continues to do his job with a wife and four children on his ship, despite being older than most humans in service, despite the many skirmishes and challenging missions he's had. Or that he's sent his first officer into."

Tuvok remained silent. Janeway took that to mean he didn't intend to make his concerns public. 

"Four children?" Harry blurted. "Not just one?"

Janeway pulled out her chair and sat again. "Yes, Harry. I've met them, actually. I've been helping his son with algebra, in fact. Miral is likely playing with the two youngest at this moment. There are more than fifteen children aboard, all children of the crew and civilian staff."

The door opened, and here came four of her missing sixteen -- Neelix, Nicoletti, Gilmore, and Golwat. The concerns of the moment forgotten, everyone rose to greet their missing crewmates. Janeway spoke with Neelix last. He'd been as verbose as always with each officer, and she was as usual no exception.

"You're looking much better, Captain, it's so good to see you again! I could not believe -- who would have thought that Starfleet would send so much help," he cried, gripping her arms tightly. At least the initial hug had been brief. Something Neelix had been through had resulted in his smelling like a hodgepodge of burnt rubber, ammonia, and grass clippings.

"I'm glad to see you, Neelix. You'll have to tell us all about where you've been."

"Well, yes! That's a tale best told over a good meal," Neelix enthused. "We were given food on the shuttle on the way here, but there's nothing like a fresh cooked -- "

"Neelix, that sounds wonderful. But I'm not sure there are kitchens aboard the _Enterprise_ and our own mess hall is dark while the EPS conduits on deck two are being repaired. Why don't we plan to have a family dinner, perhaps on a holodeck? You should rest before making so much food."

It obviously disappointed him a little, but he rebounded quickly as usual. "An excellent plan! We were assigned guest quarters on the _Enterprise_ \-- everyone here seems so nice," he exclaimed. He noticed Chakotay behind her then, and moved on to enthusiastically greet him.

Janeway glanced at the replicator and realized she was late to meet with Yves. It took another ten minutes to extricate herself without appearing to hurry off, and ten more to transport back to the _Enterprise_ and make it to the Picard's quarters. Yves answered the door.

"I'm so sorry I'm late."

Yves smiled. "That's okay. Come in."

Fidele lay on the floor in front of the couch, head up and panting as he watched. "Hello, Captain Janeway."

The pleasant tenor surprised her. "Finally admitting you're not a dog, I see."

"I was given permission. It's good to see you again."

"Here," Yves said, returning from the replicator with a cup of the coffee she'd enjoyed so much. 

"How did you know -- ah, silly me."

They settled in with the padd full of math and went to it. There was no sullen moody boy here. Still focused, still smart, even witty at times, but the gloom had gone. 

"Maman said you're coming for dinner, and so is your first officer," he said while working through the second-to-last problem. 

"I think you'll like Chakotay." She watched the boy tap his stylus back and forth and chew on the inside of his cheek. He turned his head to look at her, suddenly, and lobbed one of his surprise questions at her.

"Do you like him?"

She froze, trying to tuck away all those emotions that came with thinking about Chakotay, but knew she was already sunk.

Yves smiled and turned back to his last problem, using the blank left column to work the equation. He scribbled the answer and passed the padd to her. 

"Looks right to me. What does your mother say about using your ability to embarrass people?"

It struck a nerve, and he winced bodily -- his shoulders drew up and his face twisted, and his cheeks reddened. "Sorry," he whispered. 

"It's hard to resist, isn't it?"

He finally looked her in the eye. "I don't even know how she does it. Papa says she can sense people on other ships. I can sort of sense someone on the next deck, and I can't always sort it out -- it's so hard, not reacting to what I can sense from people. But -- I asked you to find out if -- it was something I heard Papa say to Maman. Something about you and Commander Chakotay. I'm sorry."

"There's a very old saying, curiosity killed the cat. I think it applies to Betazoids too. And all kinds of people -- Vulcans, humans -- it's part of the reason we're in space, after all. But I think you already know it isn't right to intrude in the private affairs of others."

"I know. I won't do it again."

The door opened, and Picard came in, walking as if he were tired. He smiled at them. "Good afternoon, Kathryn. Yves, do you have anything else to do before dinner?"

"Maman asked me to clean up my room when I was done with homework."

"Smart woman. But you'll have to clean up to find the room to clean it."

Yves grinned, stood up, and slouched toward his room. "It's not that bad."

"She said we might need an away team to find you, if you fell down."

Yves gave Janeway a look that clearly said 'see what I go through' and butted his forehead against his father's arm on the way to the door. Once he was out of the living room Picard gestured at her cup.

"A refill would be welcome. I had a stressful followup meeting with my senior staff, after we went over to check on how it's going on our bridge, and a little excitement when four more crew showed up. One of Glendenning's search teams located more of my crew."

"Yes, I heard." He brought her more coffee, along with a cup of tea for himself, and perched on the edge of a sofa cushion with about a meter of space between them. Janeway noted the transition from the upright captain to the relaxed family man. It was a matter of posture and body language. He could even talk about ship's business and still be off duty.

"Twelve more to go, then," he said. "And we're making better than expected progress on repairs. Batris said that he anticipates two more days before the warp drive comes online, then we need to move the ship to ground it. Fortunate that it's not a larger ship. EVA work in open space is not particularly safe."

"I want to thank you for leaving me with your family. I wasn't happy with it at first, but I do feel much better for resting so much. I suppose we get good at ignoring how run down we are, out here."

"I have found that having an intimate who can spot when you're being masochistic and reminds you to breathe can help." He sipped tea, closing his eyes and savoring as if he hadn't had any in years. "That started when she was the ship's counselor, a decade before any glimmer of a thought of a relationship occurred."

"We do that for each other, on _Voyager_. We have to." She thought about the weeks of hiding in her quarters and Chakotay's persistent visits. 

The door hissed open again, and the twins and Amy barreled through, Guinan staying in the corridor and waving as she moved on and the door closed. Amy came to show Papa her art project made of paper and small glittery items not readily identifiable, and the twins clearly had an agenda of their own -- arguing in Betazoid, they raced into the door to the children's rooms. 

And then Troi arrived, still in uniform. She smiled at them, dropped to a knee to hug Amy when she trotted over with her artwork, and instructed her to go put it away and clean her room. 

"I heard you started to meet with the cadets today," Troi said, coming to sit with her husband. 

"Might as well, since we'll be here for a while. Is there a problem with that?"

"Not really. Just another round of adulation to deal with."

Picard frowned, but said nothing, though he certainly looked like he wanted to growl at her about it. 

"Chakotay will be here in a few minutes." Troi reached over to wrap a hand over his knee, leaning closer as if to kiss him. "I'm going to talk to Yves for a moment."

"Something wrong?" Janeway asked.

Troi's gaze moved to Janeway. "Not wrong, just difficult." She rose and walked calmly from the room. 

"Does Starfleet put cadets on all vessels these days?" Janeway asked Picard. She leaned to put her empty cup on the low table in front of them. 

"Not all. I suspect this is their way of pushing me to teach, since I refuse the promotion they have offered me so often."

The annunciator signaled the final arrival, and Picard greeted Chakotay at the door as he returned his empty cup to the replicator. He replicated another drink, and one for Chakotay, and gestured for him to sit. 

"I was just talking to your second officer, Captain," Chakotay said, directing the comment toward Picard. He sat so close to Janeway she could almost bump knees with him, if she moved her leg. "I think Mendez and I have a lot in common."

"You do?"

"We were discussing the Dominion, and Cardassians."

Picard's head came up slightly. "His brother was in a POW camp, for a while. Fortunately he was released at the conclusion of the war, alive but with scars."

"I suppose you know I was in the Maquis," Chakotay muttered. Janeway hadn't heard him talk about that in a long time. From his expression, he was a bit anxious about Picard's reaction.

"As were so many other Federation citizens," Picard said. "Several of whom I knew. It wasn't the best of times, for Starfleet."

"So I gathered from what little news we got from Pathfinder. It's hard to hear that your friends and fellow Maquis are all gone."

Picard's expression was sympathetic, sober, and knowing. "I'm sure it was. It's likely your former Maquis will have no difficulties after they return, you know."

"That's good to hear."

Troi returned, nodding to Chakotay and turning a pleased smile on her husband. "Should we start with something to drink?

"Wine?"

Janeway smiled. "From your vineyard?"

"Of course." Picard got up and retrieved a bottle from behind the desk in the far corner of the room. 

It wasn't unlike the first dinner she had had with the Picard family. The children were charmers, and with Papa back they were all in top form, making silly jokes and completely interrupting any sort of serious conversation. Janeway experienced again the feeling of unreality, the lightheadedness -- she smiled when the children spoke to her, when Chakotay asked her to pass the pepper, when Yves explained to Chakotay in detail the plot of the 22nd century novel he was reading with minimal prompting. But it all felt like she was doing it from afar. 

After dessert, Troi set the older children to clearing the table, the younger to take a bath, and Picard waited for the twins to leave the room to speak. Amy grabbed two dishes, ran to recycle them, and darted after her mother, leaving her brother to grimace at her retreating back and start piling and hauling the rest across the room.

"Kathryn, are you all right?"

Chakotay leaned back in his chair, a similar concerned expression on his face, waiting for her answer to Picard's question.

"Yes, I'm fine." She paused, remembering Yves. "Every now and then... I feel a little light-headed. Distracted. A bit removed. It passes."

It sparked a few moments of thought for Picard. He gazed at her across the table, eyelids at half-mast. "I believe I know what that is. I've had similar symptoms."

Janeway, torn between asking and avoiding, glanced at Yves' back while he piled dishes in to be recycled. Chakotay's expression was now one of concern. "It's just symptoms. They'll be addressed."

Yves returned from his last trip to the replicator and leaned again on his father's shoulder. Picard put an arm around him. "You can't worry about me."

"Yes, I can," Yves exclaimed, triggering Janeway's memory of listening to the elder Picard's logs about the Borg. There was iron will behind the words.

"You don't have to worry about me." The amended statement didn't have the same challenge, evidently.

"Papa -- "

"Emotions aren't damaging, Yves. They simply are. You have work to do, so do we all. We don't get to let our feelings stop us from doing it. If I let anger or pain stop me, you would not be here."

Yves frowned with his whole face -- his forehead furrowed and mouth drawn up as if he'd been eating something sour. 

"Captain Janeway, or Tom, or Will -- that's what we do. Follow orders, get our jobs done, worry about how we feel later."

Janeway thought that Troi would have been a perfect example of someone who suffered and did it anyway, but knew it wasn't her place. Under the table, she found Chakotay's knee; his hand covered hers a second later. He was thinking about this, too, the things officers endured on missions that led to a better understanding of Starfleet's generous leave allotments.

"There was someone, Papa." Yves faltered, and the wheels were turning frantically, Janeway thought, as the slow process of navigating the minefield of the development of empathy continued.

"There are about a thousand someones on board at the moment, actually." Picard tried to make light of it, but it was clear he knew where it was going already.

The dramatic slide out of sight under the table was unexpected. Yves popped back up almost at once and sighed loudly. "He was looking at Maman! He -- "

Picard let his son writhe in wordless discomfort for a bit, until Troi returned -- clearly bathing the twins entailed taking a bath as well, her uniform was drenched. Troi crossed to the master bedroom, probably wanting to change clothes, and Picard waited until she was almost through the door. 

"Yves thinks too many people look at you."

Troi barely refrained from rolling her eyes, but her expression said this situation was all too common. "He's reacting to a lewd response to me by a certain male who will remain anonymous. Mostly because I don't even remember his name. He didn't do anything, or say anything. It isn't worth mentioning." She started taking off her jacket as she disappeared into the bedroom.

"Papa," Yves exclaimed again.

"Did you see your mother in mok'bara class throwing people twice her size around? Do you suppose if she wanted to leave that I could stop her, or that anyone could get her to do something she didn't want to do?"

It took a few seconds but the penny dropped. Yves nodded, and the grin was his sheepish, laughing one. Picard roughed up his hair and gave him a shove. "G'night," he called, waving and jogging for his room.

"He has a flare for the dramatic. When I first met him wandering the corridors, he was worried she might throw him in the brig for being late," Janeway commented.

That got a smile from Papa. "He knows she did it to me."

Now it was Janeway's turn to stare, and Chakotay wasn't much better. "What for?" he exclaimed.

"I think she should tell the story," he said, turning as Troi returned in a lovely shimmering gray dress. "Wait, did I miss something?"

"Would you like me to take it off?" Something about the way she said it hinted that she would, right there, and Picard's raised eyebrows confirmed it.

"Would you like me to -- why am I asking?" Picard abandoned his chair and darted for the bedroom door, showing the hustle one would expect of a cadet.

"What a lovely dress," Janeway said. 

"I thought we might go to Ten Forward for a while. We don't socialize in uniform unless it's a special occasion." Troi smiled warmly at them. "No need for you to change, unless you'd like to. Fidele will mind the children until the sitter gets here."

"You could just have him babysit, couldn't you?"

"He's more of a playmate to them. We'd rather have an adult in charge." She glanced at the door, just seconds before the reappearance of her husband. He'd taken off shirt and jacket, thrown on a forest green shirt, and managed to be more attractive than in the uniform. Troi's smile broadened and her eyes laughed, and Janeway realized what she'd done -- but before a blurted apology could leave Janeway's lips, Troi turned to pretend to rearrange the collar of her husband's shirt.

Picard gave her what Janeway now understood to be a fond look disguised as a frown. The secret language of the Picards. 

Janeway got up with Chakotay, straightened her jacket, and thought about what she might change into -- initially the idea had an appeal -- but realized how long it had been since she'd worn anything but a uniform. Holodeck costumes didn't count. Rather than delay things she decided to go as she was.

They followed the Picards off through the corridors. Chakotay actually offered his arm, and she took it without reservation. Troi stayed close at Picard's side, her looser gait obvious as she strode confidently down the corridor in heeled shoes. Not too many crew about, but the few they passed smiled and acknowledged them with a slight nod.

Ten Forward wasn't busy, but Seven was there, behind the bar with Guinan. She wore a new outfit, a blue dress that shimmered in the low lighting. Chakotay made an inarticulate noise, surprised, but followed along to a table off to the right, out of the direct line of sight of the door.

Guinan showed up as they sat down. "What can I get for you tonight?"

"I'll have whatever you think I would like," Troi said. 

"I'll have the same," Picard said.

Guinan smiled at Kathryn, all enigma and serenity. "Let me guess?"

Janeway gave her a thumbs-up. "You know what I like."

"I'm with her," Chakotay added.

"Got it. Be back in a minute." She glided off toward the bar. The brown and green robes she wore were quite concealing.

A few moments of silence ensued. Janeway thought that it was a comfortable silence; it was as though they needed a brief rest after the hour and a half with the frenetic energy of the younger children. Here, Troi and Picard didn't touch each other, though they sat together facing their guests across the round table.

Chakotay surprised Janeway by being the first to speak. "I can see why Tuvok is having his subdued, completely Vulcan meltdowns. So far he's only seen the very relaxed atmosphere of the down time on your vessel. It's a foreign atmosphere even compared to previous Starfleet assignments he's had."

Picard looked at them blankly, but Troi sighed. "I suppose the constant stress levels in the Delta Quadrant in addition to being short-staffed haven't allowed you to take as much time as you all need to recover?"

"Not as much as we'd like, certainly." Chakotay had a grim expression that said more than words could, as he looked at Janeway. She felt her head come up as if he were making an accusation.

Troi headed them off, in a way Janeway didn't expect. "The memories of dark places, uninformed decisions that lead to unwanted ends, and being charged with the safety and well being of others while your own is uncertain -- the expression is 'emotional baggage,' and unlike the suitcases you can lose in the luggage check, it's too often chained around our necks and can require intervention to remove it."

Picard's frown was sincere, not the same one he'd given Troi earlier to cover the softer emotions he didn't want to display. "I think, if I had not -- if we hadn't been -- "

Troi simply looked at him, knowingly and affectionately. He took a moment, considering her.

"I think I would have walked away from Starfleet," he finally continued. 

"It's what you said you were considering. So was I." Troi turned to Janeway and Chakotay. "He's referring to the evening he saw me here and decided to flirt with me instead of letting me be."

"I wasn't," he protested. 

"Oh, yes, you were. You flirted with some officers, some of the time," she insisted. "But of course, everyone knew that was in jest. Except I could tell -- "

" -- that you were different. Just as you could tell when my feelings changed, prior to that night, and that I was not happy. Still, you waited for me to -- "

" -- because of course you had had feelings for others, and I could tell, and saw you choose to move away rather than towards. I would hardly have said anything any more than I'd reveal any other private feelings that anyone had."

Picard sighed. His eyes shut, he seemed deep in thought. 

"I have a question," Chakotay said. It got their attention, both of them turning to him. Since they seemed to be waiting for it, he asked it. "I think it's obvious how this adventure turned out, but I find myself wondering how difficult it was for you at the start -- after you got together."

Unexpectedly Picard laughed -- a short stacatto outburst that turned heads around the room. Most of them turned away again quickly. 

"He was angry whenever I suggested that it might end in any way other than well," Troi said. "Usually because he was repressing his own fears that it wouldn't. Typical starship captain behavior, of course. He informed admirals and glared at anyone else who dared to comment. After the initial reaction of the crew, after the concerns about public perception and public behavior subsided, it was simply a matter of dealing with our own difficulties -- which weren't many. The professional relationship had been in place for many years by that point, and itself was a positive one. I can't think of another captain I have met that had the respect for a counselor that he had for me, actually."

Picard raised an eyebrow at that, and stared at her.

"It's true. Most captains look at counselors as necessary evils, or nuisances, if it comes about that they are forced into counseling."

"I was one of those, for a while."

"A short while. You complain that Starfleet keeps trying to turn you into a teacher, cycling cadets through our ship and offering you the Academy. But you have a natural inclination to support crew, to facilitate their success in doing their duty. Once you understood that not participating in counseling was keeping me from doing my job, you voluntarily came to see me whenever I suggested it. Even if that was incredibly uncomfortable for you."

The drinks arrived, and Seven brought them, carefully placing each glass in front of its recipient. She smiled -- a quick study now that she was motivated, Janeway thought, smiling herself at the ex-Borg's polite, professional manner -- and asked, "Is there anything else you req -- that I can get for you?"

"No, thank you, Annika," Troi said. The commander gave her a warm smile -- she was quite good at that, and should be after years of being a counselor, Janeway thought, though she was certain it was also her nature.

"If you change your mind, let me know."

"Thank you," Chakotay said. "And by the way, you're doing great."

Seven -- Annika -- seemed taken aback by this. She nodded and turned to head for the bar. Janeway found herself staring, shook herself, turned back to their hosts. Picard had his drink -- a tall blue glass with a bit of froth at the top -- already at his lips. He nodded and took another sip.

"Guinan always knows," Troi said. Her own glass was narrow and filled to the rim with a dark liquid. Some form of chocolate?

Janeway took a sip of her drink -- an explosion of strong, dark flavor on her tongue was the result. She thought there were hints of amaretto, coffee and chocolate, along with something else that lent it a hint of sweetness. 

"Perfect," Chakotay said, returning his large mug of froth and creamy brown liquid to the table. "I don't think Sandrine ever did so well for us. A product of her program, I suppose."

"Mr. Paris excelled at finding holoprograms that the rest of the crew would join him in." Janeway took another mouthful of her drink rather than spend much time going into details that might lead them down another dark path necissitating another difficult round of explanations.

"Long missions beget many holodeck adventures. We tend to use them to take the children home." Troi had her usual serene expression.

"You should see their house, Chakotay. It's like stepping back in time."

"The one in France," Troi said in answer to the quizzical look Picard gave her.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Picard said. "The twins were trying to convince me to go earlier today."

Janeway watched Seven -- Annika, that change would take some practice -- carry drinks to another table and smile at a handful of _Enterprise_ crew. How far she had come since being un-assimilated. And, apparently, Troi and Guinan had managed to motivate her to finally develop a more approachable demeanor. 

"Apparently she just needed some motivation," Chakotay said, as if he read her mind. "I'm not sure how you did it, but it looks like Seven may make it home to Earth."

"Was there some other option?" Picard asked. "Certainly she wouldn't return to the Collective."

"She wanted to, many times, at first. But I don't think so, now. She had mentioned staying in the Delta Quadrant, however." 

"There are other Delta Quadrant residents in your crew," Picard said. "I assume they want to emigrate?"

Janeway exchanged glances with Chakotay. "I'm afraid I hadn't thought to ask. I'd have expected them to ask to leave before we left the quadrant. Do you suppose they might not want to?"

Chakotay sighed. "I would think one of them might have said something by now? It would be a little late to ask to be dropped off at home."

"The same, if you would," Picard said. Janeway did a double take but quickly realized he was talking to his wife. Troi picked up his empty glass, collected her own, and rose to gracefully cross the room to the bar. He picked up the conversation where he left off. "How many do you have aboard?"

"Neelix -- he's been our cook, and morale officer, since we were brought to the Delta Quadrant. Kes -- she has been the Doctor's assistant, and takes care of the airponics bay to supplement our food supply when the replicators failed. And Denara Pel, she joined us after we found her adrift in a small vessel."

Chakotay picked up the litany of adopted crew when she paused. "Gegen. He was about to be imprisoned for his radical theories of the origin of his species. We gave him asylum. His species actually evolved on Earth, from the hadrosaur, and fled into space while the rest of the dinosaurs went extinct. He's looking forward to experiencing our home and possibly returning to his with proof of its existence."

"He's an excellent scientist," Janeway added. 

"I remember the names from your crew roster, but hadn't been informed of how they came aboard. I understand you also have rescued Starfleet personnel from the Equinox," Picard said, watching his wife returning with refilled drinks. After she put the glasses on the table, he caught her hand. She sat facing him and they regarded each other with quite obvious affection, though nothing like that initial blazing connection Janeway had witnessed the previous day.

"Noah Lessing, Marla Gilmore, James Morrow, Brian Sofin, Angelo Tassoni. Two died in a battle not long after they came aboard." Chakotay chose to ignore the rather distracting silent exchange between their host and hostess. 

Picard surprised Janeway by responding, turning to them as he spoke. She had thought him to be distracted by his wife. "Is there any officer aboard you feel should be transferred before you begin the journey home?"

Janeway stared at him. Taking Seven, a civilian, was a different matter. "For what purpose?"

"Any purpose. For the officer's well being. Or for the crew's."

The strange suggestion registered at last. "Chakotay...."

"He's not Starfleet, but the first one coming to mind is Suder. He wouldn't be sentimental about being returned without the rest of the crew, nor would he be interested in being a part of Starfleet. Since you transmitted your logs already... he may end up in rehabilitation anyway."

Janeway sighed. "Not even considering his role in retaking the ship when the Hirogen invaded."

Troi and Picard both looked at her now, and it was clear from their confused expressions that this was a piece of information her future self had not provided. "A Maquis?" Troi asked.

"Yes. He's very good at killing," Chakotay said softly.

"Is he here, now, on the _Enterprise_?" Troi matched his volume, making it difficult to hear her over the hum of conversation around them. 

"Down the corridor from me," Chakotay said. "I don't think he's left his quarters since we were all brought aboard."

"Oh."

"Dee," Picard muttered. Janeway admired the understated way he could slip into the captain's shoes, even here, while slumping in a chair with a drink in front of him. Even she could hear it -- the order implicit in his voice.

Troi responded in kind. "He's Betazoid. But he's not telepathic. He's meditating, I think, more than anything else." 

"And?"

Troi gave her captain a look, as if asking not to be asked, but he mirrored her tight-lipped, tense expression and waited. Janeway noticed her taking a deep breath, her fingers shifting as she tightened her hand on his, but instead of responding, she shook her head. Standing her ground. Picard relented.

"Do you think he's a danger to anyone?" Picard asked Chakotay.

"Of course he is. But he's a member of our crew, and voluntarily working with Mr. Tuvok to manage his impulses. We were at a loss at first. He murdered one person, for no reason other than enjoyment of the act. But Tuvok has worked with him for several years, melded with him, and if our head of security believes he's trustworthy after multiple mind melds.... We could hardly keep him in a cell for the rest of the journey home."

"Lieutenant Wildman," Janeway exclaimed. "And her daughter. They should go, if possible."

Picard smiled. "She was released from _Venture_ 's sickbay today."

"We would miss Sam and Naomi, but if we can reunite them with Sam's husband -- Naomi has never met her father."

Picard reacted to this by turning to Troi with a raised eyebrow. She turned to Janeway. "Lieutenant Wildman's husband transferred into our operations department two years ago. He's been with her since she joined Naomi aboard the _Enterprise_ several hours ago."

"Oh, how wonderful," Janeway exclaimed. "She'll be able to stay?"

"I would guess she has more than enough leave to stay aboard with him for a month or two." Troi froze -- her expression went carefully blank.

The change in posture got Picard's attention immediately. He waited, watching her as if contemplating a bomb that might go off any second.

"Something wrong?" Chakotay asked.

"Usually," Picard said.

"Nothing to worry about," Troi said. "Every so often someone manages to surprise me."

"What do you mean?" Chakotay's professed innocence in the matter shouldn't be startling, Janeway supposed.

"Not the children, then." Picard relaxed, picking up what was left of his drink.

"What do you get when you put three crews together, when some have been trapped far from home with no company but their own co-workers?"

Picard winced. "An empath with a headache?"

"Oh, dear," Janeway said under her breath.

"It isn't as bad as the time we picked up those Deltan colonists," Troi told her husband.

"And yet, I am anxious."

"So -- " Chakotay wasn't usually slow on the uptake; this must be disbelief at work.

Janeway tried to think of a way to change the subject.

"Have you given any more thought to what you want to do when you get back to Earth, Kathryn?" Troi asked, rescuing the conversation.

"It goes without saying that I have little interest in more space battles." The relief Janeway felt was hopefully obvious to Troi.

"Which I would expect, given you have more interest in the sciences," Picard said. 

"Are there going to be research-focused missions in our near future?" Chakotay asked.

"Of course. Whether they would give you one is up to Command, of course, but I suspect it a likely outcome." Picard sipped his drink. "Enrollment has been slow as of late. They need to keep us interested. You might find more leeway in keeping some of your officers than you think."

"We've actually had a few exploratory and scientific missions ourselves - more than we had before the end of the war, certainly," Troi said. "Diplomatic ones aplenty, many of which nearly became another battle...."

"Fortunately, diplomacy is easier than it used to be," Picard murmured, taking another sip of his drink. He watched his wife do the same and raised an eyebrow.

"This isn't alcoholic," she scolded, leaning to shove his knee gently. "Stop that."

"The last time -- "

"Jean," she warned, and it ended the tangent neatly.

A few people walking by with arm's reach distracted them, and the second officer, Mendez, actually stopped at their table. "Want to play pool, sir?"

Picard turned to look at the pool table in the far corner. "Do you play pool, Chakotay?" 

"I know how. I'd be an easy mark, if there are stakes."

"We play for drinks," Mendez said, smiling. "Which as anyone knows are free here."

Deanna smiled as she watched the men head off to join the growing huddle of potential opponents in the corner. She nodded to Janeway. "It's one of a few pasttimes we have a tradition of, here. I prefer card games."

Janeway thought this would be a good time to broach the subject she'd hoped to discuss with Troi, however, the words wouldn't come. In spite of the familiarity that Troi had so intently pursued, in spite of the level of comfort Janeway had with her now, the issue was still too difficult -- too personal. Troi tilted her head, clearly curious, and hesitating to ask. 

"You don't typically share as much with friends, I'm guessing. I don't think you would be so open about the true nature of your empathy, for example, even with people you've known a long time."

"Yes." Still, Troi waited -- obviously she knew this was not about that.

"It would be particularly awkward for people to know that you can sense so much as to eavesdrop on their more intimate moments." Which was as close to the issue as she could get, at the moment. 

Troi dropped her gaze, and the smile returned. Her sigh was inaudible, but Janeway noticed the slight movement of her chest as she smoothed her skirt along her thigh absently. "It's possible -- however, in most circumstances I don't have to continue to observe once I have an inkling of what's going on, or who it is. I do after all have to sleep once in a while. We are also working on a small generator that will provide localized, harmless doses of a particular kind of radiation that disrupts Betazoid telepathic ability -- the children will be able to work on their own abilities to block or screen themselves without feeling overwhelmed, or needing routine doses of inhibitor."

"I'd wondered how Yves was going to cope -- he seems to have quite a lot of difficulty," she said, as it occurred to her just how much discomfort the poor boy would be experiencing, trapped on a ship full of people this way. And certainly his parents would not, from the obvious intense attraction to one another, attempt to be celibate until he left for the Academy. 

"There is also the fact that intense experiences of my own can make me unaware of the emotions of others," Troi stated, making it clear that she understood. "Something that usually coincides with long periods off duty, or minimal duty, or things that make it very much less likely that a red alert will occur."

Janeway knew she must be turning red -- she'd likely started to when Troi hinted that she knew exactly what Janeway's real concern was. 

"I wonder sometimes, if the classes they offer cadets who show promise of being captains do something to humiliate all of you into being frightened of acknowledging your own needs," Troi said quietly. "As a psychologist I find that disturbing. Unhealthy, even."

"You're sure that has nothing to do with the differences between Betazoids and humans," Janeway managed. 

"I'm mostly joking. Mostly."

Janeway laughed, and Troi's smile returned -- the amused one. Troi had many smiles, with subtle variations of each. She reached for what was left of her drink.

"I had understood him to be a private man. It must have been quite difficult, tackling admirals that way," Janeway said quietly. She knew the tables in their immediate vicinity were unoccupied, but there were plenty of people in Ten Forward, as others had been trickling in as they talked. And, she noticed out of the corner of her eye, Harry Kim and Tom Paris had entered the room, and were actually approaching them casually. Most likely because the only empty tables in the room were the ones around them, she noticed suddenly. Quite a few people had come in since they sat down.

"Yes." She paused as Kim and Paris hesitated at the table closest to theirs, and her head turned ever so slightly their direction. To Janeway's surprise, she continued with increasing volume, returning to the less personal track of the conversation. "And of course, there are those lectures about not allowing crew to become too familiar."

"I remember a conversation in ethics class on the topic," Janeway added, keeping her eyes focused just over Troi's shoulder, so her officers were within her range of vision. They were pulling out chairs, and Kim waved to get Seven's attention.

"I believe Command track graduates were actually taught to avoid close friendships with subordinates. Over time, I think that has been less the case -- certainly in the past fifteen years, the observed effects of isolation on officers have led Starfleet to change some of their expectations on that issue. Psychological assessments for humans always include a section on social supports. It's not because it's nice to know those details -- social relationships are necessary for good mental health. Not long distance relationships, either."

"I thought that was why they started to allow families on starships." Janeway looked down at her drink, glancing over -- Kim and Paris were talking to Seven. She nodded and strode away, headed for the bar. 

"Do you believe that being married to someone who doesn't completely understand what it means to be an officer would be easier than with someone who does?" Troi looked over at the pool table, where Mendez was staring at the table with dismay and Picard stood back with a cue and a smug expression. "I can see the appeal -- I've met a few such spouses, in fact. And I had difficulty sustaining a real conversation with them. I have as much in common with Mrs. Jellico as I do with the house plant in our living room."

Janeway snorted. "We couldn't possibly sit in quarters all day waiting for the working husband to come home. It doesn't follow that no other woman could."

"True. However, would you want a spouse who was content to do so? How attractive would such a person be to you?"

Janeway wondered if Troi knew anything about her past -- but then wondered about Mark. She'd been a different person when she'd agreed to marry him. Would she do so again, now, after being in the Delta Quadrant for so long? Her gut said no. Not because of potential long separations -- her own mother had endured those, and that had always been the norm for the Janeway family. Janeway felt different, changed, in ways that would have perhaps interfered with a relationship with Mark. 

"I think that while it might be appealing to have someone who didn't remind you of work, allowed you to escape it entirely, it would ultimately be something that created distance," Janeway said. 

"There have been occasions when officers I have known have considered or attempted such relationships. There are few I have seen survive for long. Usually Starfleet couples of lower ranks have more success -- and huge disparities in rank rarely occur. Same-ranked couples are more common."

"I would presume that the next step in your progression will be to point out how the captain would have the most difficulty of all," she mused. Out of the corner of her eye she caught another movement -- Harry and Tom were too obviously not looking at them, and Harry sat up straighter. They had drinks, were facing each other across the small round table, but didn't seem to be talking. 

"Or the first officer." Troi frowned a little. "There is a common misperception that officers become promiscuous -- but in reality it would be difficult for them to continually move from liaison to liaison, on a ten year mission where the ship doesn't reach a starbase for months at a time. And a single officer repeatedly pursuing romantic relationships aboard the ship would run out of opportunities in a short time, not to mention alienating a good number of his own peers and subordinates. In cases where first or second officers find spouses aboard their own ship, it's usually with staff in the medical department that they find stability."

"Does Starfleet actually keep track of these things?" She also wondered if the Doctor kept track, and if the data had been shared already while _Voyager_ had had contact with Starfleet.The thought made her a little nervous.

"Indirectly. Counselors don't violate confidentiality. However, they do report statistical data, in the hope of helping Command change procedure when necessary to facilitate the mental health of those serving on long term missions." Troi shook her head. "Mostly, I am drawing on my own years as a counselor. Statistics I collected on my own ever-changing crew over the past decade are enough of a sampling to extrapolate to Starfleet at large. Starfleet doesn't publish statistics, either. They post recommendations and changes to regulations informed by them. Regulations have not changed regarding fraternization -- the attitudes of officers have shifted, though. Fraternization itself is not a black and white issue, and never has been, but it becomes easier for individuals to make it black and white. Easier for captains to banish it as a possibility altogether than to work out the details that might facilitate it. Until it became obvious that it wasn't working as well as was assumed. The rates of clinical depression show a direct correlation with rank and social isolation. The presence or absence of a far-distant spouse made no difference."

Janeway glanced at the bar, where Seven -- Annika -- was collecting drinks on a tray. Janeway turned back to Troi and met her eyes. The cheers from the pool table were followed by a clatter of the balls being racked and set up for another game.

Troi smiled, raising her drink to her lips. "It's a fair guess that unless I tell him Chakotay is letting him win, he'll be impossible tonight."

Janeway laughed at it. "Chakotay is a hustler. He's played pool in Sandrine's many times. I'm sure it's all part of his plan."

"I know." Troi's wry smile made Janeway laugh again. "I don't think he has had much experience with empaths." Her eyes slid left, and her head turned to follow, and she stared now at Paris and Kim.

Movement -- the two lieutenants scrambled off to another table, farther from theirs. They tried to look nonchalant. It was nevertheless a scramble. 

"Being pedantic can remedy idle curiosity." Troi grinned, her unvoiced laughter in her eyes. "One of the ways we dealt with scrutiny." She picked up her empty glass. "Can I get you anything while I'm at it?"

"A refill would be lovely."

While Troi was gone, Janeway settled back and watched Chakotay impress the onlookers with his ability to put the balls in whatever pocket he liked -- he'd switched gears and now Picard looked like he'd realized what was really going on. Seven approached the pool table with a tray of drinks, handed them out, bringing the last one to Picard; she was hesitant, but not avoiding him. Troi returned and placed the refill in front of Janeway and sat in her chair, sipping her own drink serenely.

Janeway watched Seven leave the pool table with a stiffness in her gait that said discomfort. She felt a pang of sympathy for the young woman.

"I think that Annika will be all right," Troi said softly.

Janeway nodded, accepting the assessment more than she might have, before. "I hope she stays aboard long enough. I believe she would learn a great deal faster with your help."

"It depends on whether she can come to trust us. I spoke with her for a while earlier today, and she seemed less angry, and somewhat accepting of my suggestions. It appears my help with dressing for her job paid off."

"It'll take a little less time than it took for her to trust us, I think."

More cheering from the table. Janeway glanced over to see that Chakotay had won. Mendez was chalking a cue and Picard had moved aside to exchange his cue for his drink.

"Or you could simply warn me," Troi said softly, returning from long absence to the concern that had started their long conversation about fraternization.

Janeway looked at the floor, trying not to fidget. "I don't know -- we don't have a schedule."

"It doesn't have to be complicated, or difficult. It only feels that way, at the start."

Janeway watched Picard approach; Deanna didn't look up as he arrived behind her, or react when his hand went to her shoulder. "Need anything?"

"Now that you're here, no." 

The response, delivered in a low, suggestive tone laced with sensuality, wasn't what he expected. He froze for a moment, then met Janeway's gaze with a sly smile. His eyes slid down toward the top of Troi's head, he leaned a few centimeters, and, in another of those synchronous moments, Troi tipped her head back to look up at him. 

"Are we going now?" Troi murmured. Her body swayed toward him slightly. 

"If you like," he said, calm and mild as milk. 

"Good night," Janeway said. "Thank you for inviting us to dinner." 

"I hope we see you at the picnic tomorrow," Troi said. Smiling at Janeway, she winked and turned to follow Picard as he headed for the door. They walked out of Ten Forward together without a backward glance. Janeway didn't miss that Troi had highlighted the social event, rather than the appointment in sickbay, for tomorrow; she'd been included in the separation of work and personal. It resonated in a way that Deanna's earlier statement that she considered Janeway a close friend had not. Janeway smiled warmly at the thought.

"I won you a drink." Janeway turned to find Chakotay arriving with two glasses in hand. He glanced at the closing door and grinned. "Our host has gone for the night?"

"Oh, yes. It's quite late. We should go as well."

"As you wish."

She took the drink and followed him toward the door, trying not to notice people watching them. In the corridor she took his hand again, sipping the margarita he'd given her. Not as good as the still-unnamed drink Guinan had created for her, but decent.

In the lift, he tugged on her hand, leaning, and she met him halfway for a kiss, holding the drink away from them to avoid spilling it. It started tentatively, but she moved into it and he did the same, his arms going around her. They jumped apart when the doors slid open on deck eight. He chuckled -- no one was there. Taking her arm, he led her down the corridor to her door. 

She took two steps inside and realized he hadn't followed. Turning, she met his eyes, now sober.

"We should at least finish our drinks," Janeway said. 

He followed her in, but still, no smile. He seemed tense, she thought. The door closed behind him. She crossed to put her glass on the end table, waited for him, took his glass, put it with hers, and turned to find him questioning with his eyes. 

Janeway held out her hand, watched him take it, and stepped into his arms. One of his eyebrows rose, but he didn't seem able to speak. She thought about what she might say, but nothing seemed right, so kissed him instead, just a brief meeting of lips. 

"Kathryn," he whispered. 

"It doesn't have to be complicated," she said, echoing what Deanna had told her.

"It always seemed that way."

"Making things complicated is a good way of protecting yourself from yourself."

Chakotay tilted his head, smiling, conceding the point. "Not from someone else?"

"Do I need to worry about you?"

He sniffed. "I've been known to be dangerous."

"Maybe that's one of the things I like about you?"

The amusement faded. Chakotay gazed at her, and just as she was about to move in again he leaned to kiss her.

Now that they were behind closed doors, now that he had the reassurance he'd apparently needed that she wouldn't run for it, it was as if the spigot had been turned full on -- she wondered if the heat she felt meant her whole body had started to flush red, if he would start to --

His fingers started to work at the front of her jacket, answering the question. Janeway reciprocated while maintaining full contact with his mouth, feeling like a teenager again. She hadn't often felt that this kind of attention had been lacking in her life, but now that their tongues wrestled for space in each other's mouths, she felt an urgency that she couldn't remember having before. Chakotay continued kissing her while occasionally gasping for air and pushing his right hand up under her shirts while prying the turtleneck off and shoving her backward until her calves bumped up against the sofa, her left leg jarring the coffee table aside. It was as though the lid had been pried off a tightly-sealed box she'd kept hidden somewhere for years.

She let go and fell backward along the sofa, laughing, pulling her tank top over her head while Chakotay pulled off her pants and boots, then yanked off his own shirts and shoved his pants to the floor. Seeing him in nothing but standard issue briefs gave her pause, but obviously he was too worked up to lose momentum -- those standard issues were looking a bit tight at the moment. She sat up to unhook her bra, fell on her back again to shimmy out of her own standard issue underwear, and as the panties reached her ankles he helped them over her feet, chucking them away behind him, his eyes trained on her intently. Then his own briefs hit the floor, and he took two steps forward. And stopped -- thinking he must be waiting for her to give a final signal, she held out her arms, inviting him into them. 

Chakotay's smile put all previous versions of it in the shade. She hoped her own was half so revealing. He came down atop her body in slow motion, suspending himself over her on knees and hands, then continuing even slower downward to kiss her. Now he seemed to want to prolong first contact for as long as possible; she felt more of his weight as one of his arms came up to glide along her skin, over her left breast, her shoulder, her neck, her cheek -- it lingered there while he explored her mouth at a leisurely pace. She slid her hands up his ribcage, down his back in parallel lines as low as she could. When her fingers found the smooth hills of his buttocks, he tensed, his erection pressing against her. 

His right hand shifted now, and his body came down heavier than before against her. While he changed position he lost contact with her mouth, and panted -- without hesitation he slid a few inches lower and in a swift movement she didn't predict, he pushed into her. Her body reacted by arching her back, pushing against his chest, a cry escaping her as the air fled from her lungs. The reaction seemed to excite him. Before she could come to her senses enough to do anything else, he was thrusting with fervor and again, her back arched and her hips rose with each stroke, as if welcoming him with joy.

Joy, yes. Setting aside brief doubt, she let herself go, finally -- she realized as an afterthought that her heels had planted themselves flat in the cushions, her muscles working in ways they hadn't been worked for a long time, and a tight, fierce heat in her abdomen began to spread outward. The orgasm hit her too quickly. She cried out again, and he yelled -- she realized seconds later that it meant he had lost control and joined her on the way to afterglow. 

And then she became aware of being sweaty, as they slid against each other as they came down to earth -- the sofa, actually -- and started to figure out where limbs should go so the other could be comfortable. It became obvious that the sofa was the wrong place for two people to rest. As they jockeyed for position both of them lost balance and they rolled off all of a sudden, landing together on the floor and shoving the coffee table even further out of the way. 

He started to laugh, continuing to roll until he was on his back next to her, his arm ending up under her shoulders. Janeway laughed again, and couldn't stop until she lacked the air to do it any more. Chakotay came to a shuddering stop and she listened to his breath dwindle in volume until they were both calm again. 

"I really didn't want -- " he said, but the rest of the sentence didn't come.

"I did." 

He laughed again, briefly. "I wanted to be a little less impulsive."

Janeway was sure she was grinning ear to ear, so perhaps it was okay they were both eyes to the ceiling. "I want to be more impulsive, repeatedly."

The pause lasted but a moment, and she could hear the grin in his voice. "Warp nine?"

"Absolutely." This vacation would hopefully be enough time to figure out them, before she had to figure out them plus the crew. The thought nearly took her away from the moment. She exhaled, slowly, focusing on how his fingers found hers and twined together with them.

She heard him exhale, slowly, and his hand found her right breast; when she turned her head to look, she was startled to find him propped up on his elbow, looking down at her. His expression took her breath away. 

"You did say we were going to do some exploring along the way?"

"Mmmm." She touched his tattoo, running her fingers along it and down his cheek. "I believe I did."

His smile became something she hasn't seen on him previously -- wicked, lascivious, the sort of smile that started another fire in her -- as he came down to pull a nipple into his mouth.

Janeway briefly hoped that Deanna was indeed otherwise occupied, and just as quickly the thought vanished as she ran her fingers through his hair and inched herself closer to him.


	17. Chapter 17

Picard waited, sitting on the bed, and glanced up at the stars he could see around the reflection of the candle flame in the viewport over his head. He smiled, thinking about the look on Deanna's face a bit earlier in Ten Forward while he anticipated her return. When the door opened he stayed as he was, and felt her fingers on his shoulder, drifting down his arm as her lips brushed his temple. The mattress shifted as she put her weight into her knee; her finger guided his chin toward her and his eyes closed as her mouth found his. 

She leaned, and he leaned, and then it was a negotiation, his hands wandering up her shirt while her hands slid down his chest, around his waist, her weight left the bed and then she was astride his lap. He grabbed the hem of her shirt and she pulled away while he drew it up over her arms and head to throw it to one side; her arms came to rest on his shoulders and she paused, looking down at him.

"Dee?" 

"I still wonder sometimes if we will ever turn into one of those boring old couples," she said, smiling and tilting her head. Her hair tumbled down around her face as he found pins and removed them. He dragged his fingers through her curls, sending the remainder of the pins flying. A twist of his hand wrapped her hair around it, and he towed her head down gently for another kiss.

And once more, they were interrupted -- the double tone announced someone at the front door. Deanna sat up, her hair sliding free of his fingers, and exchanged a frustrated look with him before turning to find a robe. She tossed him the first one she found in the closet.

"If someone isn't bleeding, someone will be," he grumbled as he shrugged into the soft gray robe.

"Be good," she chided. The green silk robe she'd chosen wasn't short enough. She obviously caught the thought; she him a sly look as she turned to leave the bedroom.

"The children?"

"Asleep, except Yves. He wanted to read for a bit. The generator appears to be working well enough. He couldn't tell you were sitting in there imagining me naked." The glance over her shoulder nearly sent him back into the bedroom to hide; no one needed to see him in a robe that didn't conceal an erection.

"Bad Betazoid."

Deanna came to a halt just outside in the living room and crossed her arms to keep the front of her robe from gapping. He stepped through the bedroom door to let it close and stood behind her. "Enter," she called.

The last thing Picard expected was one of Janeway's crew. The Talaxian, he remembered -- it had to be, from the tufts of hair on his head and the spots on his face. He'd only seen a picture, attached to his file in Janeway's crew manifest. There must have been a field commission since the picture was taken; Neelix wore a uniform.

"Oh! Oh! This isn't -- " Their visitor fidgeted, reminding Picard of the twins at three years old, caught in the act and unable to sit still. "This isn't Captain Janeway's -- but of course, I should have asked for her by name, I'm so sorry," he babbled, and clearly would have gone on in like fashion if Deanna hadn't interrupted.

"Neelix," she said, in her soothing tone that reminded Picard of the days of Counselor Troi. "It's very late. If this isn't an emergency, you should let her rest."

Neelix gaped at her. "Oh. Yes, of course." He glanced anxiously at Picard.

"This is Captain Picard. My husband."

Unexpectedly, Neelix grinned. "It's such an honor to meet you, sir! I've heard nothing but --"

"Neelix," Deanna interrupted again, a little more stern than before. "We're going to bed. It will be better if we talk tomorrow."

The Talaxian finally got the hint and nodded, backing into the corridor. "Good night, Commander. Captain."

After the door closed, Picard exhaled noisily. "What the hell -- "

"Jean, take a deep breath and remember the children are sleeping. Clearly he asked the computer for the captain's quarters without thinking."

He inhaled deeply, exhaled, and turned to return to their bedroom, carefully lowering his voice. "Of all the clueless -- "

"If he's excited about something, he tends to be overwhelmed by it easily. I'll have to mention it to Kathryn."

Picard balled up the robe and threw it at the closet. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"I think she wouldn't want him to interrupt her while she's 'resting.'" It was apparent what she meant from her tone. She stood at the end of the bed and let her robe slide from her shoulders to the floor.

"Let her know I don't appreciate my 'rest' being interrupted, either."

"I think if you were less angry, you wouldn't request that I discuss with her how upset you get when deprived of sex."

He barely contained himself; swearing at the top of his lungs wasn't conducive to getting her naked body back in the bed.

"Bed time for Captain Grumpy." She pointed at the bed behind him.

He scowled at her, but she was already closing the minimal distance between them, her expression as distracting as she intended it to be.

"You need your rest," she murmured, as she leaned in to kiss him.

\------------------------------

Janeway woke from the few hours of sleep she'd managed to find that she was too warm. Chakotay snored lightly, startling her. She pulled the covers aside and sat up, looking down at him. It had been difficult to sleep with another person in the bed; he was an active sleeper into the bargain, rolling over or tossing a limb every so often. 

And then there were the imagined consequences of this impulsive tumble that had occupied her for a while, followed by the guilt of not even caring any more. Which didn't last long, either. This was, she thought, the first major decision in a while that didn't immediately result in endless second thoughts. Perhaps she was letting the Picards influence her, perhaps she wasn't thinking at all -- but it was long past time to not let herself cling to what was clearly not working well. 

Smiling, she went for the replicator, started the coffee maker, and by the time she returned with a tray loaded with breakfast, Chakotay was awake. She hesitated upon seeing his surprised expression. Then hesitated again when he looked embarrassed.

"I thought...."

Katheryn smiled. "The guest quarters all look alike, don't they?"

A slight smile told her she'd guessed correctly. "They do. It seemed for a minute that I'd dreamed the whole thing."

She handed him the tray and sat on the edge of the bed again, shoving the covers down to make a flat place to put it. "Is that something you've dreamed about before?"

"Well...."

Janeway pushed a mug of coffee toward him, reclined against her pillows, reached for a muffin. "You haven't had my favorite coffee yet."

She forgot about her appointment until the computer reminded her as they lingered over breakfast. She dressed quickly, ignored his token complaint about being abandoned, and twisted all her hair into a bun.

"It's not just a follow up with the doctor," she said. But saying the words out loud proved more difficult than she thought. Chakotay sobered and waited for her to continue. "I need to work on resolving trauma."

It brought him to his feet. "Counseling?" Surprise she understood. The happiness bothered her a little.

"No. It turns out Deanna has a way of getting to the trauma without my having to spend months talking about it. I'm going to be in sickbay for about an hour."

He smiled, thankfully not making too big a fuss about it, and started to pick up dishes. "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Oh... thank you, Chakotay, but I think I want to see how it goes. I'm sure you would be just too distracting. The opposite of trauma."

He laughed, following her out of the bedroom, and kissed her forehead before she left. "I think I'll hang out here until you get back."

"Okay. See you in an hour."

Once in the corridor, she found herself walking behind Deanna, and quickened her step to catch up. "Good morning," Deanna exclaimed as Janeway drew even with her. 

"Yes, it is."

From Deanna's knowing smile, she knew why. But she didn't follow up on it. "We had a visit from Neelix last night. He forgot there were two captains aboard and showed up at our door. You're fortunate I was there to keep Jean-Luc from waking up the deck."

Janeway actually stopped walking for a few seconds, shocked. "I'm so sorry -- I hope he didn't interrupt.... He did, didn't he?"

Deanna said nothing, but didn't have to. Her attempt to stifle her amusement was enough. 

"I'll give him a curfew -- don't worry, I'll be discreet."

"No need to worry on my account. I suspect that once he calmed down, Neelix might have registered the fact that we were in robes and obviously in disarray, and put together the clues."

They were alone in the lift on the short ride to deck eleven. Janeway kept her mirth to herself, until she realized yet again that Deanna could tell anyway -- she started to laugh quietly. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I can just imagine what Jean-Luc must have thought of Neelix -- he's unstoppable when he's excited."

Deanna laughed with her. "He's certainly unique. I think if I hadn't gone out to answer the door, Jean-Luc might have called security."

"I'm not sure what -- " Janeway stopped herself, but then again, this was Deanna. "What Chakotay would have done."

"Best to avoid that situation, I think." Deanna kept her eyes forward.

The doors opened, and Janeway took the lead for the short walk to sickbay. By the time Mengis came out of his office to greet them, she had found her composure. 

The nervousness didn't hit her until she was on the biobed. "Perhaps you should decorate the ceiling," she suggested, distracting herself. "It might keep your patients from trying to leave out of boredom."

Mengis glanced up, and actually gave it consideration. "Viewscreens," he said, turning to Deanna. "What do you think?"

"You can requisition some. We may be able to get an engineer to rig adjustable mounts that swing out of the way." Deanna reclined on her own bed, her hands resting on her stomach.

Mengis placed a hand on Janeway's shoulder. "Are you ready?"

"Nervous," she admitted, in case that mattered.

"You'll find that the anxiety will pass quickly." Mengis watched Deanna, Janeway noticed, and when she turned her head to look she saw that the Betazoid had closed her eyes, her face falling into a neutral expression. Over her head the monitor showed heart rate at the bottom, and six lines indicating different kinds of brain activity -- most of them were becoming more active.

About a minute later, Mengis turned back to Janeway. "Close your eyes. Think about the last time you felt that you might die."

Janeway obeyed, and the first memory that came to mind was the cell, the insect-like Klane clicking rapidly at her as they dragged her down a tunnel and threw her roughly inside, the snap of a bone and the immediate pain lancing up her leg --

It was gone in seconds. The anxiety rising, the emotional pain, even the memory of the physical pain muted to a tolerable level. She had no sense of a presence, or of any manipulation -- there was the distress at remembered pain and confusion, and then there was a memory of that pain, faded, and even the imagery that went with it seemed blurred.

She then felt an impulse -- no, more like being nudged along, pushed forward, the next memory that flashed up was the Hirogen aiming --

That rising anxiety and remembered fear vanished as well, leaving the images behind, and memories of her fighting alongside crew members to recover their ship. She even tried to reconnect with the emotions. It hadn't completely gone, the anxiety and anger of having her ship commandeered were still there. But her body and brain remained calm. No adrenalin surge accompanied it any longer.

The process of being compelled to remember and having the lingering pain of each experience muted to a level she could handle continued, until Mengis' hand came down on her shoulder again, giving it a shake as he called her out of the surprisingly-deep trance she had been in without remembering how she got there. Janeway opened her eyes.

"Stay there. Relax. Give yourself time to recover. How do you feel?"

"Oh...." She tried to sit up, fell back down when her head felt as though it might float off like a balloon. "Ooooh...."

"You're all right. Lay down. Wait until you feel better. It'll pass in a few moments."

He was right. Her head felt better as she rested, until she was able to sit up without feeling so odd. She immediately turned to where Deanna still reclined on the bed, the monitors above her head much less active. 

"Is she all right?" Janeway asked softly as the doctor returned to check the commander's status.

"She's quite well. After the procedure she meditates herself to sleep. I'll wake her in about twenty minutes. Think about the last time you felt you were going to die."

Janeway did so, returning to the memory of the cell, then taking the liberty of going back to other memories that had been triggered. "Amazing," she whispered. "I remember everything, but I don't re-experience the feelings any more."

"Yes." Doctor Mengis smiled at her. "Tired?"

"Somewhat. Not so bad as all that."

"She starts slowly, until we know what the patient's tolerance levels are. It appears we may be able to accelerate the treatment."

"That would be a relief, to be done with it sooner." She found herself wishing -- but certainly with more than a hundred crew and just one empath, there was no way Deanna would have the ability to do this for everyone on _Voyager_. And it would be completely wrong of her to expect it. She then thought of Kes -- perhaps Deanna could teach her....

A moan distracted her from her thoughts. Deanna was sitting up as well, and Mengis scanned her briefly.

"I think half a dose," Deanna murmured. "It's not oppressive."

Mengis pressed a hypo to Deanna's neck, stood back, and said, "You can return if you need another dose, or an analgesic. Unless there is a way to convince you to go back to sleep?"

'Thank you, Gregory." Deanna straightened the collar of her uniform. "Will we see you at the picnic?"

"Not this time. I have some crew physicals to do. Enjoy the beach."

"Absolutely. I'm hoping Jean-Luc will keep the children occupied while I sunbathe."

"So it's a beach simulation?" Janeway asked as they left sickbay. A few steps down the corridor she was overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness. Deanna held her arm, waiting until it passed to start walking again. 

"It's a program we resort to when there's not a consensus on anything else -- we created a scenario with a beach, a meadow for picnics and ball games, a small forest for tree-climbing, hide and seek or other kinds of games involving stalking, and a big box of toys to use in any of them." 

"That sounds like it will be fun -- do you know who's coming?"

"Not a complete list, but most of the children and their parents will be there. The Wildmans, the Paris family, Tom and Beverly are bringing Lora and Phoebe with them. Jean-Luc is headed there soon and I'll be along after I am done with a systems check on the bridge. The school children will be escorted in by the teachers."

"I should go change, then. I'm looking forward to some swimming and beach time. Maybe playing ball with the kids?"

Deanna grinned again. "Yves is set on using the pellet guns. He's had miserable luck winning against his father -- Jean-Luc is amazingly sneaky, for someone who's had very little actual battlefield experience. But I expect the twins would love to practice their softball skills with you. Amy will likely be wandering off with Lora and Phoebe; she loves her 'big sisters.'"

"Chakotay may join the warriors, but I think laying around on the beach sounds more my speed at the moment. After a few rounds of ball with the twins."

They entered the lift together, asked for their separate destinations, and while they were in transit Janeway thought about the procedure and all the memories they had sifted through. "I'm wondering if you have an idea of how long it will take -- it's an amazing procedure, but I don't want to monopolize any more of your time than -- "

"Kathryn," Deanna chided. She paused. "It's not an imposition. Accept the help and stop pushing me away."

Janeway smiled nervously and found herself shuffling her feet like a cadet. "It's not what I would have expected -- this has all been overwhelming, so much more than I would have expected, and it feels like taking advantage, not just accepting help."

"I understand," Deanna murmured. "But it's not a matter of accepting. Needing help and refusing it would be worse. Especially when your crew depends so heavily on you."

Janeway nodded, but as she thought about it she began to chuckle. "You do know how to motivate, don't you?"

"Is it true?"

Janeway inhaled deeply, sighed, nodded. "I know that it is. I know that I've not been so in touch with that fact -- being so isolated from Starfleet and family and home, the connections we have with each other are so much more important, and yet I allowed myself to -- "

Deanna's hand flew up and smacked the 'hold' button on the panel in front of them. The lift stopped, without a perceptible jerk or shudder. "Are you assuming that you had that much control?" she asked, turning to face Janeway.

"I realize how it sounds, but I could have made the effort to set aside...." Janeway found her hands had jumped to her hips, and that Deanna's serious expression had descended to a frown. Reining in the immediate reaction, Janeway considered, and nodded once. "All right. Yes, I'm being defensive. I know you're going to tell me that the symptoms of trauma influence my thinking, and that it's not possible for me to be completely objective about my own state of mind. But extreme circumstances -- "

"Extreme circumstances don't change your symptoms. Continued trauma makes them worse. The worse they get, the less able you are to react appropriately in extreme circumstances." As she continued, her tone softened. "You don't have to do it with me, but if you expect it to work with Chakotay, you'll have to practice being open emotionally with him."

Janeway laughed airlessly, her head falling back as she closed her eyes. "Merciless. This is how you confronted him, whenever he was being hard-headed?"

Deanna's canny smile didn't diminish the intensity of her gaze. Now she too had her hands on her hips. "If it was needed, and I wasn't being his counselor. He often tried to change the subject, too."

That prompted outright laughter, and though Deanna continued to smile in genuine amusement, she didn't join her. Instead she tapped the 'hold' button again, the lift completed the journey to the bridge within a minute, and the doors opened. Deanna stepped just far enough forward to hold them open.

"I'll see you at the picnic, Kathryn," she said warmly, as if she hadn't just called her out for self neglect. The doors closed behind her as she left.

On the way to deck eight, Janeway thought about what she should wear to the holodeck. The lift changed directions, flew along horizontally for a few seconds, and then descended again -- when the doors opened, Picard came in, padd in hand, and smiled at her before pivoting to face the door, standing on her right. He also asked for deck eight. Then he seemed to be looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Are you all right?" he asked finally.

"What did you call it? Guerrilla counseling?"

He guffawed. "She's serious about getting you back to fit for duty. I can imagine how well that's going over."

"I understand what and why she's doing. I can't fault her -- it's been fairly obvious how concerned she is about me."

His smile diminished, and he nodded thoughtfully. "And you're less resistant than I was, so not likely to need more drastic intervention."

That surprised her even more. "Now you're scaring me."

The lift stopped and let them out on deck eight. Picard unexpectedly slowed just outside in the corridor, put a hand on her shoulder, and when she turned to look at him he backed a step and crossed his arms. 

"You were right when you said I did not like talking to you about fraternization. It's likely less obvious to you how Deanna feels about discussing it. Nor would it be obvious how she experiences the stronger emotions of others. It took months for me to fully understand it, myself, and that only after we'd been together for that long. She is more aware, has more range, more telepathic ability, than she ever has before; this has been a slow progression and we've been told that it would have been less of a change if not for the bond between us." He stared at the carpet between their feet. He didn't like telling her any of this, either, from the minute curl of his lip. 

"I told her not to - that I'd just deal with the counselor. I sincerely do not want to be an imposition. I could tell after the session that it takes a lot out of her."

The expression on his face brought further commentary to a halt. "Think about it again. She's been aware of everything you felt since you came aboard. You're not going to convince her to let you do that. She knows very well, better than we do, the severity of our trauma when she sees it and how likely we are to recover from it without help."

"She's used this technique on you, I would guess."

"No." Now he just looked tired. "The specific procedure has not been necessary. One of the things that led her to conclude that it was possible was the way she and I recovered from trauma, telepathic or otherwise. As difficult as it could be for her to stand close contact with me in the middle of some painful experience, she insisted on it, once it became obvious that it sped up my healing process."

"Because of the bond. You would do the same for her." 

A soft smile accompanied the distant look in his eyes. Janeway almost interrupted, almost changed the subject to escape, because she thought he must not be aware of how much showed on his face -- but a blink brought him back and she found herself looking him in the eye again.

"I have. I would."

"Are you encouraging me to allow her to do the work, or just to acknowledge the futility of trying to escape it?"

"Kathryn." He paused, and something in his face made her wonder what he was thinking. "You need to understand that when someone who cares about you pushes you to get help, it's because they know you need it. Anyone who knows you understands how independent you are and respects that. Accepting the help tells them you care about them."

She felt suddenly that they were too close, turned and started toward her door, and he fell in step with her. He stopped as they reached her quarters, and she hesitated, unwilling to just walk in without speaking.

"Thank you," she said, hesitating to look him in the eye again. 

"See you at the picnic," he said as he moved away.

Chakotay waited inside. He studied her from the couch over the top of a padd as she came to sit with him. "How'd it go?"

"Very well. No effort on my part at all -- I almost feel guilty about that."

"I'm glad you're getting the help." He put the padd aside, on the end table closest to him.

She knew there had to be the rest of a sentence there; from his tone, he'd cut it short. "And?"

Chakotay pressed his lips together.

"You were going to say something else. Come on."

"The last time I said anything it started an argument."

Janeway bowed her head, then scooted closer, putting her head on his shoulder. "I wasn't in a good frame of mind. Probably not in my right mind. Say it."

His arm went around her. "I've been worried about you for a long time. I was about to say that I'm glad you're getting the help, because I don't want to be on the verge of removing you from command again. I don't like thinking that way. I don't like that I have to face the possibility of you being that disabled, or that I'd have to focus on the ship and not be able to -- to be there for you, the way I'd want to."

Janeway hadn't cried in a long time, but his soft, almost fearful admission left her eyes prickling with tears. She closed them and turned her face against his shirt. 

Chakotay hesitated, then she felt his other arm tightening around her. Then his hand began to stroke her hair. It was as if it broke the ever-shrinking wall she'd maintained for so long -- a sob came up from the depths, and he held her tightly while the pain of not having allowed this to happen before worked its way out of her.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between the increase in clientele and reaching the end of the WIP and moving into new territory, I anticipate updates will now be weekly, possibly bi-weekly. I have the rest of the story well under way, however. It should give me more opportunity to practice my "Tuvok voice."

Picard had changed in preparation for the picnic and was pulling his brown shirt straight when he heard the door. She'd been on her way, he knew, but he was unprepared for the look on her face as she entered the bedroom.

"Oh," he exclaimed, holding out his arms. Deanna didn't stop walking until she came up against him and leaned into him, her arms going around his waist. While he waited for her to relax, to work through whatever pain or upset had brought her to tears and resulted in her shutting him out of it, he held her and hummed softly.

She was slow to open herself to him again, but as she did he understood that it wasn't really her pain -- the process of addressing Janeway's trauma had, as usual, resulted in a tenuous, temporary remnant of the connection she'd made with her patient, leaving her more sensitive to the patient's moods. Then shortly after leaving sickbay Janeway had gone to her quarters and had a good cry about something.

Sighing, he waited it out, until Deanna stepped back and took his hands in hers. "You could just let her deal with it in counseling, you know," he said.

"As tempting as it is, no. Not if we expect her to be back to normal by the time _Voyager_ is ready and we are leaving." Her shoulders sagged a little as she looked at him. "I don't know if I'm up to a picnic. It was more intense than I expected. She's very good at compartmentalizing everything."

"So go to one of the other holodecks, take a nap on a private beach. I can keep the kids busy enough."

Now she looked sad. Wistful.

"For a while, then they'll go back to school, and I'll join you. Feed you chocolate and help you enjoy your beach. I did say I would be there, after the appointment."

Her eyes met his, unexpectedly glittering with tears again, but this time a smile reassured him. "I would like that."

Picard put a hand to her cheek, leaned to kiss her gently. This time she put her arms around his neck and sighed contentedly.

"Unless you want changing clothes to take an hour, perhaps I should go," he mumbled.

"Yes. I love you, Jean."

He let her move away, headed for the door, wishing there were not other obligations -- the pull toward her was not as strong as before but plainly they were still experiencing the aftereffects of separation. 

The corridor was empty but for Janeway and Chakotay; they smiled at him as he caught up to them. Both of them had left behind uniforms at last, and it appeared Janeway would be relaxing on a beach as well, judging from the loose, long red robe and the towel over her shoulder. Chakotay wore comfortable pants and a blue short-sleeved shirt. 

"Hello, Captain," Chakotay said.

"Not currently. Jean-Luc." 

Chakotay grinned. "Okay."

The lift ride was short, and the corridor on deck six was busier. As they reached holodeck six, where everyone was gathering, they met Paris, Torres, and their nineteen-month-old daughter, who Picard had met the previous afternoon when he had visited the day care for storytime. Miral had the fainter forehead ridges of a Klingon hybrid, and today she also had a big smile for him. Clearly he'd made a bigger impression on her than he'd thought.

"Untle!" she shouted, yanking free of her father's hand and racing forward to crash into Picard's left leg. She clung to his calf and giggled. 

Before anyone could react to this another little voice sang out the familiar refrain of "Uncle Captain!" A three-year-old blur dashed past Paris and Torres, and then his right leg had Blaine clinging to it. 

"The school children are arriving. This doesn't bode well -- two legs and five toddlers," Picard exclaimed. He pulled Miral off and slung her over his right shoulder, eliciting more giggling, and grabbed the back of Blaine's shirt. Fortunately the boy let go and squealed wildly as he was swung high and tossed at his father, who had been close behind him; Craig Lopez caught his son, nodded at his captain, and turned to haul Blaine through the holodeck doors.

Shrieking from down the corridor propelled Picard into the holodeck as well. Miral was still laughing like a mad thing, not protesting being carried like a sack. The three remaining toddlers arrived at as fast a run as their short legs would manage.

It became a mob of children, all crowding him, almost blocking the holodeck entrance. The younger children arrived, then the next age range up, until the entire school was present -- he started to encourage children away to play as he greeted them. The younger children demanded hugs. At least the teenagers had more tact; they waited for the teachers to wade into the melee and sort it out before Yves, evidently nominated quartermaster for the game, requested his participation and handed him a pellet gun. 

"Wow," Paris commented once the kids had dispersed. He'd retrieved Miral and held her on a hip. Torres had moved off to the beverage table.

"I think the kids like you," Janeway said. Her puckish grin matched Chakotay's.

"Understatement levels must be proportionate with rank," Malia said. She turned back to her table, waving her hands to shoo her helpers back to their tasks.

"Chakotay needs a gun, too," Picard suggested. Yves grinned, reached in the bag he had, and offered one, which Chakotay took.

A few of the other adults joined them, teams were formed, and guns distributed. Chakotay was drafted into the red team, along with Mendez and three of the six teenagers, including Yves. Everyone dispersed into the trees. Picard wandered through the woods, hiding behind rocks and trees as his team tried to skirt the other and come in from behind for an ambush. He'd lost track of the rest of blue team, and wasn't particularly concerned about it. This time his heart wasn't really in the game. It was only as he lay on the ground behind a large pile of rocks, resting, listening to avoid being ambushed, that he let himself think about Deanna again. 

Thinking led to paying attention to how she felt. She wasn't asleep, he could tell. Tired, but still thinking about something he couldn't read. She had to intentionally connect with him, if there was any distance between them at all, for him to know her thoughts. But something still weighed heavily on her, and he knew it would pass more quickly if he spent more time with her.

Popping sounds somewhere ahead told him someone was being fired upon. The pellets stung a bit, but wouldn't really hurt anyone. He heard a yelp -- laughter followed, and a little swearing. 

Rolling on his back, Picard studied the terrain behind him, contemplating retreat. A sudden clatter of rock against rock drew his attention; he looked up to find Yves had climbed the rock pile and was looking down at him.

"Papa?"

"I guess I'm not in the mood for it," Picard said. 

"Maman doesn't feel well. You're worried about her."

"Yes." 

Yves aimed at him and pulled the trigger. The pellet bounced off Picard's chest and away into the grass. "You're dead. Guess you should go find her." 

Grinning, Picard tossed his gun in the air. Yves caught it easily, grinned back, and reversed course, knocking several more rocks loose. 

Picard got up from the grass and hurried away, maintaining as much cover as he could without slowing down. It took a while of weaving through the trees toward the meadow to be clear of the war game.

As he reached the picnic area, where the crowd had grown and people were sitting down to eat, he slowed to a fast walk, eyes trained on the arch -- only to be blindsided by a flying child slamming into him, arms going around his waist. He almost lost his balance, noticing blond hair and a vertical line of horns on his assailant's forehead -- Naomi Wildman.

"Thank you," she exclaimed, and judging from her voice she was crying. It surprised him, delaying his response.

"Naomi!" Greskrendregk rose from one of the tables, followed by his wife, and the two of them hurried over. Around them heads turned, and now there was an audience. And then Naomi's mother also rushed him, throwing her arms around Picard's neck.

"Lieutenant," Picard blurted. He didn't care at this point which lieutenant heard him and did something, being smothered by the Wildman family while members of the crews of three starships looked on was not comfortable in the slightest.

"Sorry, sir," Samantha Wildman exclaimed, letting go and stepping backward. "But you don't understand how much -- " She rubbed her face, brushing away tears, he realized, and put her hands on Naomi's shoulders. The girl did the same, her hands flying up to her face to wipe away happy tears. 

"Thank you for bringing my daddy," she cried. Overwhelmed again, she lunged to hug him once more. "Thank you."

It was a little too much for him. "You're welcome. But I think you should thank the first officer. She was the one who brought him aboard."

Naomi let go and looked up at him. "You're the captain. You were the one who signed off on the orders."

It made him laugh, and Greskrendregk's hesitant smile turned into a grin in response. "I should know better than to try fooling a captain's assistant. I hope you are enjoying the picnic."

Naomi's smile was contagious. "Not enough ice cream," she said. 

"Oh, well, there's a replicator programmed in here somewhere. Ask Mrs. Ching."

"Can I come see your bridge?" 

Horrified looks on both her parent's faces said that they expected to be chastised for their daughter's impertinence. He ignored them. "Tomorrow morning. If you can talk your parents into it."

"Nine hundred hours?" Greskrendregk stared at his daughter, surprised by her manner -- it seemed he hadn't yet been made aware that he had a little officer on his hands.

"That would be acceptable. Have you met my daughter?"

Naomi scrunched up her nose, confused. "You have a daughter?"

Glancing around, Picard couldn't see Amy's red curls anywhere in the meadow. "AMY!"

After a few minutes, during which Naomi and her parents tried to recover from wide-eyed shock, Amy topped the hill, running from the direction of the beach, her green sun dress billowing around her tanned legs. She slowed as she approached, running into him for a hug at a jog. 

"Oui, mon père?" she said sweetly, smiling up at him in the way she usually did to get something she wanted. 

"This is Naomi Wildman, and her parents. She likes ice cream almost as much as you do."

"Not possible," she sang, twirling away and back. "Hi Naomi. I'm Amy Troi."

"Picard."

"Okay," Amy sighed. "But I'm a Troi on Betazed."

Picard smiled, thinking about genetics and how it might not be possible for Amy to be any more like her grandmother. He decided not to mention that all Picards were Trois on Betazed. "Be a good hostess, Amy. I have something to do."

"Okay." Amy sauntered toward the tables. "Let's get something to drink. Do you like ebi'lan?" Naomi followed, clearly captivated, and Samantha watched her daughter with amazement. 

"Thank you, sir," Greskrendregk exclaimed.

"Not at all -- enjoy the afternoon." Picard smiled politely and headed for the arch again, hoping the Wildmans would be the last ambush of the day.

\-----------------------

Janeway watched Chakotay jog away into the forest with the kids, turned to smile at Malia, and found that Torres had returned with a tall glass of something on ice. Miral gazed at her thoughtfully from her father's arms, and Paris grinned.

"I hope you've been enjoying your time off," Janeway said.

A look crossed both their faces that made her wonder -- she knew Torres and Paris had had a rocky relationship, for a while, until they'd figured out how to balance work and off duty. Had the separation perhaps caused some problems for them?

"Miral's been cranky. There have been so many changes -- I think the nursery here is a little overwhelming for her." Torres smoothed her daughter's hair out of her face.

"She seems to like the captain a lot -- I didn't know he helped in the nursery," Paris said.

"He probably visits, as would any parent with children in the nursery." Janeway smiled, remembering picking up the twins and being treated as part of the family. "Maybe you should visit, too, if you haven't -- it might help her settle in."

Torres looked somewhat guilty. "I guess I didn't think we could."

"I took a turn for an afternoon, myself. There's a difference in how they handle children here. It makes me think we should have had someone assigned to run a school, instead of leaving it to be arranged by a parent with off duty friends."

"The Doc said once that he thought more structure would help," Paris said. "Who would we want running a school? Or would we whip up an Emergency Holographic Teacher?"

"I think it would be great, but if Sam and Naomi aren't coming with us, that would mean a class of one," Torres said. 

"Unless we have more kids, or someone else starts having them," Paris added.

"I think it's important. Let me think about it," Janeway said. 

She left them there and wandered the meadow for a bit, but the various members of the Picard family were not in sight. After greeting a few people she knew here and there, she headed for the beach. She stepped from the last stair into golden sand, looking for Troi, but seeing only a line of empty beach chairs to the right, and a dock to the left. A couple of boys were running away down the sand beyond the dock.

She took one of the chairs and found the lever that turned it into a recliner. After a bit, she realized she was more tired than she'd thought, as she caught herself dozing. Then she decided to just let it happen. Playing ball with the twins could wait. They were obviously occupied already.

Some time later, she awakened to find Neelix standing over her. Sitting up, she checked herself -- she hadn't even bothered to take off the robe -- and looked up at his anxious face. 

"Is everything all right, Neelix?"

"I don't want to interrupt -- you looked so -- ah, I'll just take care -- "

Janeway stood up. "What is it, Neelix?"

"I was just exchanging recipes with Mrs. Ching -- she's a wonderful cook -- and then Seven -- I don't know what to make of -- it was going so well," Neelix exclaimed, "until this fellow -- "

"Where?" Janeway lost patience with yet another run-on Neelix style sentence and started to walk toward the steps.

They came back up to the meadow, where she found that there were different people present than before -- how long had she been asleep? -- and that two of them were Seven and Natalia Greenman. It looked like the rest of those present were picking up small children or waiting while the older ones were coming from other parts of the simulation. The remains of the meal had been abandoned -- of course, they would disappear with the program.

"Is everything all right?" Janeway exclaimed as she approached Seven. 

Greenman smiled, but it was a subdued version of her usual. "A misunderstanding with a cadet."

Seven, unusually, said nothing. She wore another new outfit, a white shirt and gray skirt. If not for the brow implant she might have been any beautiful young woman overdressed for a picnic.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Janeway said. 

"Want to go get something in Ten Forward?" Greenman asked the former drone. Janeway wondered if Seven knew she'd been assigned a lookout.

"I would like to return to my quarters to regenerate," Seven announced, in her usual assertive volume and tone that she used when upset and not wanting to show it. She glanced up at Janeway, at Greenman, and back at the grass. "Although I am not able to since there is no alcove on the _Enterprise_."

"You can use holodeck seven," Greenman said. "A holographic alcove would work the same, wouldn't it?"

Seven's eyes flicked to the lieutenant's face. "I believe so. Though I would need at least five hours, and the holodecks are only reservable in two hour increments without the authorization of the captain or the first officer." She had obviously already tried.

"The doctor said you no longer needed...." Janeway noticed then the streaks of tears on Seven's fair cheeks. Perhaps this was more about regressing under stress. 

"I'm going to override the rule for you," Greenman said. "I'm sure Commander Troi will approve it."

Seven's face became less stony, settling into a weary expression of acceptance. "Thank you."

Janeway watched the two women leave the holodeck via the arch then turned to a gaping Neelix. "It looks like neither one of us needed to intervene."

He recovered quickly, turning to Janeway. "I was hoping to talk to you -- uh, I was thinking about the situation, and realizing that it would be -- with the replicators fixed, you probably won't need a cook any longer."

"But we still need security officers. And we don't know that the replicators will stay online. You know how it goes, out here. Unless you want to take your ship and reverse course, find other Talaxians and stay with them?"

Neelix considered it, and smiled. "No, Captain. I would like to stay aboard. It's my home now. I don't think you will have any argument from any of your adopted crew, on that point."

Janeway smiled warmly. "Thank you, Neelix. How are you doing aboard the _Enterprise_? I know it's very different than what you are used to."

"It's not the same, but it hasn't been difficult. Although I have to wonder -- the senior staff don't seem as approachable. The captain doesn't seem very patient, either."

She paused to consider how to approach it. "Are you talking about last night?"

Neelix flinched and looked down. "Well... yes."

"It's all right, Neelix. I spoke to Commander Troi about it, and she assured me that they understood was just a misunderstanding. What were you so excited about that you came looking for me?"

"I was just thinking -- I had some ideas about the reunion you were talking about. I was thinking about the menu, and decorations."

It was Neelix -- he had always wanted to share every detail of everything. She smiled and listened for a while, even starting to walk. He came with her for a distance in the corridor. At her suggestion that he could replicate what he needed right before the party, he brightened and thanked her, and hurried off to go plan it out.

Now Janeway felt as tired as if she'd never had a nap. She rode the lift to deck eight, strolled the empty corridor to her door, and found Chakotay once again reading his padd while relaxing on the couch, with a bowl of some kind of snack food on the table in front of him. He stood up to come to greet her.

"Who prevailed in your military action?" she asked as he kissed her on the cheek. 

He stood back and sighed. "Well, it was an interesting thing. I was on Yves' team. He managed to take out half the other team. The rest of us took turns catching up to him and finding out after the fact. I shot one 'enemy.'"

"I suppose that has something to do with his being an empath."

Chakotay raised his eyebrows. "How so?"

"Deanna can determine heading and distance based on what she senses."

"Maybe we should take her with us. That would be helpful if we ever lose sensors again." A routine occurrence for them, over the past few years.

Janeway knew he was joking, from his smirk. "Or maybe you need to learn how yourself?"

That won her a quirky one-sided grin. "Those genes weren't available in our tribe."

They sat together and were silent for a moment. She watched him, anticipating, and he didn't disappoint. 

"I'd like to know what you were crying about, before the picnic, but I don't want to pressure you."

"You don't have to use any pressure at all. There were times that I desperately wanted to talk to you, for my own sake, but hesitated to because of the determination not to overstep boundaries. That was just my reaction to realizing that wasn't really necessary and grieving lost opportunities."

Chakotay leaned invitingly, draping his arm along the back of the couch, and she smiled as she moved closer to take advantage of it. "So more regret and self recrimination?"

"I've missed you so much, Chakotay. I might not have seen you again to tell you...."

"But, here we are. So stop that."

She chuckled with him and almost kissed him, but the annunciator went off. "Oh, well, now I'm starting to feel like a captain again. Come!"

Harry Kim strolled in and froze in mid-stride upon seeing them so close together, with Chakotay's arm draped over her shoulders. She let him process it, while she thought about it herself -- they weren't in uniform and this wasn't the bridge. So rather than pull away, she leaned back a little, relaxing.

"Uh, Captain?"

"What's up, Harry?" Chakotay asked.

"I was -- it -- "

"Harry, sit down, please." Janeway waited for him to comply. He hesitantly took the chair across from the couch, looking at them over the coffee table. "I know there's something bothering you. I've been intending to come talk to you about it."

"Well," he began. He couldn't seem to look at them, but once he dropped his gaze to the floor, he managed to go on. "I was thinking that it was -- "

When it was obvious he couldn't finish the sentence, Janeway tried to help him. "You don't approve of the relationship between Captain Picard and his first officer."

His alarm seemed to confirm it. The minute his eyes came up he looked away again. "When we were aboard the _Venture_ it surprised me -- Captain Glendenning was -- and then it wasn't just them. Obviously Starfleet was letting -- it wasn't fair, that they were fraternizing and you.... I mean, you and -- "

"Harry," Janeway said softly, as he clearly wasn't going to be able to finish. Not his fault -- it truly wasn't his right to comment on his captain's personal business. She decided to address the real issue. "While I understand your concern, and I appreciate it, it's not really your place to judge other officers, on other ships or on ours. Not unless something in the personal realm had an affect our performance as officers. Which I would hope you might recognize and bring to my attention."

Harry gaped for a moment. It seemed to help, though. "Uh -- yes Ma'am," he blurted.

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?" Chakotay asked. Janeway resisted the impulse to glance at him -- he clearly understood what this was, and had jumped right aboard her train of thought.

"No, sir. Ma'am. Captain."

After dismissal Harry scurried from the room as if his pants were on fire. She turned to Chakotay at last. "I suspect we need to refine our approach to this kind of discussion."

"I don't know, I think it went well enough. Succinct, straightforward, professional." His arm, on the other hand, was not -- she felt his hand along her waist.

"Would it work well for angry crew, do you think?"

"Does it matter how anyone feels about it? Opinions are going to vary, why should our approach to them change?"

She relaxed against him and closed her eyes with a contented sigh. "You're right. Consistency."

His chuckle vibrated in his chest; she felt it against her ribs. "This madcap scheme sounds better all the time."

"Chakotay?"

"Hmmmm?" He seemed to be pushing his face into her hair, which was coming loose from the braid.

"You've thought about this a lot, haven't you?"

"I...." It was one of those pauses that told her she had been right, all these years, that he had often been about to say something and taught himself to hesitate. Now that she had opened the door, the pauses were getting shorter. "I have, actually."

"Repeatedly, and often," she added.

"Yes."

"I should ask, then, if you have any other thoughts on what we should be doing about this, or not doing, once we're back on duty and trying to get ourselves and the crew home."

"Well, we should let them come to us. No announcements or anxiety. Just like Harry -- you can bet the entire crew knows, as of a few minutes ago, now that he's had time to contact a few people."

The annunciator cut off her response. "I think you're right," she said with a sigh. "Come in!"

The one person other than Chakotay on her agenda for the afternoon strode through the door, raising an eyebrow at them. Chakotay immediately stood up, went around the table and smiled at her.

"I'm going to go check in with some of the former Maquis -- it sounded to me like there might be some questions coming up about their status now that we're reconnected with Starfleet," he said.

"That sounds like a good idea. Let me know if you have any concerns after you're done."

With the implicit dismissal, he went past Tuvok, giving him a nod in passing, and left her quarters.

"Hello, old friend," she murmured. "Please sit down."

Tuvok did so, perching stiffly on the couch near her, hands folded in front of him. She noticed that he had replicated the older style uniform they would all have to return to, shortly. "I am extremely concerned that our situation is a flagrant violation of the Temporal Prime Directive."

"I have to say, Tuvok, that isn't what I expected you to say at all." Janeway smiled at her friend.

"You no doubt expect that I will criticize your assignation with Commander Chakotay, as others have been doing. It is not my place to criticize the personal choices of others, unless it interferes with their behavior while on duty."

She grinned, suppressing the urge to hug him. "So you believe Captain Picard was wrong to bring me back in time, help recover the rest of the crew, and repair _Voyager_ so we can return to the Alpha Quadrant?"

"As has been stated before -- it is a 'slippery slope' and not to be undertaken lightly, if at all."

Something else registered as he spoke. "Wait -- you said others are criticizing me? How could they have known -- "

Tuvok met her gaze solemnly. 

"Tuvok," she growled. 

"There has been a betting pool, since shortly after we left Kazon space."

It might have angered her, in the past. "Did you win?"

Tuvok's eyebrow twitched, as did the corner of his mouth. "I do not participate in games of chance." She smiled, almost about to speak, but he continued. "However, I would have been more accurate than most, had I done so."

She almost laughed with him. Not that he laughed aloud, but she could tell he was amused. "What did you think about the information we were given, about the Randra Alliance? I thought it was telling that Captain Picard was so unyeildingly firm on the nature of the K'Korll."

"Yes. It was only out of respect for the captain that I did not protest our current course of action."

"Do you know Captain Picard?" She hadn't thought so, but realized that it was possible.

"I do not. However, on Vulcan, he is highly respected. He assisted both Ambassador Sarek and Ambassador Spock, on separate occasions."

"I didn't know that. I guess I need to do a little research -- I was assuming I knew more about him than I do."

"I would have expected him to have carefully considered his actions. However, he is after all only human. I question the decisions he has made in this endeavor."

Janeway considered this. "Have you discussed this with him?"

"No. As you are my commanding officer, I thought it more appropriate to bring my concerns to your attention."

She sat up straighter, realized she still wore her beach clothes, and smiled apologetically. "Wait here if you would." She hurried to the bedroom, changing into her uniform and putting on her commbadge. "Janeway to Picard."

"Picard here," came the crisp response.

"I was wondering if you have a moment. Mr. Tuvok and I have something we'd like to discuss."

"Meet me in my ready room in ten minutes. Picard out."

She returned to the living room, where Tuvok had risen from the couch and stood waiting. "Let's go."


	19. Chapter 19

Picard woke with a start, rolling to an upright seated position, nearly tipping the hammock. He had expected to find himself in bed. Deanna woke as well. She sat up and swung her legs out the other side, stabilizing the wide panel of fabric as her weight balanced his. 

"Something wrong?" she asked. 

"No, I was just having a dream. Woke myself up." The remembered last moments of the dream were mildly disturbing -- something about a Borg walking the corridors of the ship. 

"Are you still sure you want Annika Hansen aboard?" Deanna asked. Clearly she'd caught the last glimmerings of the dream as well. He half turned, glancing at her over his shoulder; her long curls fanned across her bare back and shoulders.

"I was sure that I didn't. Do you have another option?"

"What happens if she goes with _Voyager_?"

"Some situation pushes her to breaking. She loses control, injures several of the crew, kills the engineer, and then herself out of guilt. She fails to manage the strain of trying to maintain control without the Borg implants that forced emotions aside."

As he stood and turned around, he saw that Deanna had also done so, and was stretching her arms above her head, leaning to each side slowly. The tattoos along the insides of her arms, spirals of interwoven lines of purple and gold lettering, ran from just above the wrist to just below the armpits. They looked as bright now as they did when just done, six years ago during their formal wedding on Betazed -- he remembered it well, down to the shock he felt when Deanna had casually mentioned their options of where to put the tattoos, a few months prior. Two sets of old Betazoid runes that amounted to labeling them as property of the Fifth House. He had thereafter worn long sleeves when leaving their quarters.

"Do you think Annika is likely to do that on our ship?" Deanna asked, pulling the sundress she had worn to the holodeck over her head.

"Do you have a sense that she might?"

Deanna slid her feet into her sandals, picked up the hair band, and started to wind her long hair into a knot. "She was somewhat depressed but hopeful when you brought her aboard. She spent the past day or so being angry, but that's passing. It's more frustration and weary acceptance now. When I talk to her she doesn't feel as frustrated." She paused, thinking. "I still don't understand why you were willing to take her under my wing."

Picard snorted. "You can blame Tom. He suggested it -- even if he only meant I could delegate it to you, I knew it would be possible for you to bridge the gap for her. She couldn't understand her own feelings, that was obvious even to me."

"I'll have to thank him," she said, her tone indicating how much 'appreciation' Tom was in for.

"Are you still angry at me?"

There had been minute clues, and some not so small, here and there that told him as much. She called for the end of the program, and once they stood on the grid she came to him. "I was. It's easier to understand why you were secretive, now that I see the scope of the problem. You still could have told me more than you did."

"Janeway asked me not to," he murmured. "It would have changed things."

Deanna's head came up; he almost expected a nostril flare. But she smiled, took another step, and while she leaned she reached for the back of his head with both hands, bringing them forehead to forehead.

"I love you," he whispered. She smiled as she brushed her lips on his cheek, bumping noses with him. He closed his eyes and thought about bringing up another program, and hiding away for a while longer with her. She knew, and wished along with him, but pulled away to look him in the eye, her hands sliding down to his chest.

"Now that the picnic is over, the kids are back in school, and Janeway has gone about the initial stages of getting her senior staff on board with accepting her intent to move in with her first officer, I think you need to get back to work. Later, you can meet with your first officer somewhere private and have a talk with her, about what we're going to accomplish from here on out, until we're returned to the time and place we are supposed to be." 

The summary clearly demonstrated yet again, that no one aboard would be able to get away with anything, unless she ignored what she sensed. Fortunately she ignored a lot, out of principle. Including quite a lot of what Picard felt, or thought, but that mattered less to him over time.

"As much as I like the first officer, I'd rather stay with you."

Deanna's smile turned into the sly grin he enjoyed so much. "Tempting, but at least one of us needs to mind the bridge for a while longer."

They left the holodeck finally, heading for their quarters to change. "Do you have reports on the repairs?"

"I do. I intend to read them and then go talk to some engineers."

"And I suppose that leaves me with the bridge."

Several crew, ensigns and a lieutenant from operations, passed them going the other way, and in the lift they rode with one of the lieutenants from engineering to deck eight. In their quarters, they changed into uniforms again. She caught him by the jacket and suddenly they were holding each other again.

"Not that I'm complaining, but you were the one who said we were going to work."

They separated again; she crossed her arms. "I also need to check on Ms. Hansen. See how Nat is doing with her."

"I need to promote Natalia, already."

She preceded him out of their quarters, walking beside him on the way to the lift. "She'll refuse it. I've pressed the issue with her as recently as last month -- she's nearly as stubborn as you."

"Or you."

The lift was empty. After a brief ride, he stepped out on the bridge, and she didn't follow. The officer of the watch turned out to be Natalia. She popped to her feet. Other than an ensign at the helm and a lieutenant j.g. at tactical, she was the only officer present.

"At ease," he said. "Report."

"Nothing really happening at the moment. _Voyager_ repairs continue as planned, sensors show no traffic in the area, and another shift of engineering staff is about to beam across to take over where the alpha shift is leaving off. Lieutenant-Commander deLio will be on watch for beta shift. I have a pool game to start in an hour."

"Good. I'll be in my ready room." 

Nat gave him a grin as he turned away. In the ready room, he found a box sitting in the middle of his desk.

It had been a while since Deanna had done something like this. He knew it was her -- no one else would have left it here. He smiled when he found the tiny picture of a fish on the bottom, and pulled the lid off. She had left him a bottle of massage oil, which let him know what to expect when the kids went to bed. She must have left it there earlier in the day.

When Janeway called him, he invited her to the ready room, stashing the box in the bottom drawer and fortifying himself with some Earl Grey. He was putting a mug of coffee out for her when she and her security officer arrived.

"Can I get you anything, Mr. Tuvok?" he asked as the two of them sat down.

"No, thank you, sir. I wanted to say that it is an honor to meet you, Captain."

"Thank you. What was it you were wanting to discuss?"

"Captain Janeway felt that we should discuss my concerns about the Temporal Prime Directive with you," Tuvok said.

Picard seated himself behind his desk and glanced at the monitor to his right. The list of repairs completed on _Voyager_ had grown, he noticed. "Which are?"

"Have you determined what actions you take are warranted, and which are not?"

Picard smiled grimly. "No. Captain Janeway will. Along with several admirals I spoke to prior to leaving Earth orbit after our last major refit."

Tuvok cocked his head. He glanced at his commanding officer, then back at Picard. "Captain Janeway will?"

"Judging from the messages I have received in transit, this is a time loop -- I have no idea how many iterations this is. Or if this will be the final time. Your captain came forward eight years, so we have information from her as she is two years from now, when we meet her future self."

"Then we are on a predestined course -- to a point."

"My first officer has been improvising here and there, but a defined end goal exists." Picard paused, considering -- he remembered Janeway describing her relationship with Tuvok. The Vulcan was one of her closest friends, and she valued his greater depth of experience and his input. "I expect you are questioning whether the end justifies the means. That was my initial concern, as well, but I'm certain you know how tenacious Captain Janeway can be in arguing her point."

"We have had some experience with time travel and the possible complications of causing too much interference. I have difficulty believing that Command would allow this level of interference, merely for accumulating information."

"I could try to describe for you the impact of the K'Korll, but it would be more effective and efficient to use a mind meld."

Janeway's eyes widened, and Tuvok actually flinched -- his head jerked up a few millimeters. "Not a suggestion I expected you to make," Janeway said.

"I don't take it lightly, you can be sure. But I know that words do not begin to describe telepathic experiences, and I trust Vulcan discretion."

"Have you ever experienced a meld before, Captain?"

"Twice." Not to mention the bond with his wife, which had exceeded anyone's expectations, and also been considerably more intimate than either mind meld.

Tuvok seemed to consider that seriously. "You feel that this is necessary."

"You want to understand. It will likely inform decisions you make in the months to come, should you encounter the K'Korll. I did not come so far and violate so many regulations to fail to provide any advantage I am allowed to give you that would ensure success."

Janeway stared at him. Picard tried to ignore her. After a moment, Tuvok stood. Picard got up, rounded the end of the desk, and put his hands behind his back, calmly waiting, sending a wordless warning to Deanna. She would no doubt sense this and it occurred to him that it might be misconstrued as a telepathic attack. As Tuvok raised his hand, fingers arranged in the usual way, she responded by making full contact.

He wondered if Deanna had timed her reaction -- she was there, in a way she rarely was while on duty, when Tuvok's fingertips made contact with his face and the meld established. The memory of the K'Korll thus became a combination of his and hers. A Betazoid impression of the nature of K'Korll possession might help, he thought, and so did she, and Tuvok felt like a dry Vulcan wind through it all while they remembered the long story of the Asili, the K'Korll, the Sisnok and all the damage they experienced. Picard thought Deanna was laughing about something, but he was distracted, trying to understand why they were thinking about a beautiful Vulcan woman, instead of staying focused on the reason they were there, and then Tuvok was backing away.

The Vulcan sat down. He seemed speechless.

Picard returned to his chair, thinking for a moment longer with Deanna -- her amusement dwindling, she let him see what had passed too quickly for him to catch, that Tuvok was a touch telepath and he had not recognized a bond between them, and being immersed in it had surprised him. She returned her focus to what she was doing and left him to confront his guests and recover from the typical chaotic ride through a telepathic exchange of information.

"I understand," Tuvok said.

Janeway glanced from him to Picard and back. "Will I need a mind meld too?"

Picard watched a silent look pass between them. Tuvok turned to him and said, "I apologize for the brief disruption -- I was not anticipating the presence of your wife in your thoughts. It reminded me of T'Pel."

"I wasn't expecting Deanna to join us. She has a different perspective of the K'Korll than I do, however, so I thought it was helpful."

"I have had the opportunity to meet a number of Betazoids, while teaching at the Academy. I do not believe I have ever met one who could manifest so strongly in the mind of a non-telepath. Fascinating."

Picard suppressed a deep sigh, set aside defensiveness -- it was, he supposed, some sort of accomplishment to startle a Vulcan into being more forthcoming than usual. "Similar remarks have been made by Betazoids, actually. Alien encounters and a strange choice of husband likely have something to do with it."

"Of all the adjectives available, I wouldn't have picked 'strange' as one that applied to you." Janeway seemed on the verge of incredulous laughter.

"It does, from the perspective of quite a number of House Betazoids." Picard reached for his tea. "Do you have any questions, Mr. Tuvok?"

"Not at this time. I would like to speak with your wife about her abilities, if you are not adverse."

"You may ask her. Why would I be adverse?"

Tuvok's eyebrow twitched. "Telepathic contact is rather intimate, and I have noticed that humans can be possessive of their spouse."

"I have no such inclination. She can associate with whomever she wishes, on whatever terms she chooses."

This time, the eyebrow stayed up, as Tuvok stood and raised a hand -- Picard returned the salute, even speaking the ritual words in Vulcan, and it evidently startled Tuvok again.

"Live long and prosper," he replied. 

Knowing that it was intended to be reciprocal, in his native tongue, Picard added, " _Longue vie et prosperitie_."

The other eyebrow joined the first. Tuvok dropped his hand. "May I be dismissed?"

"Of course."

Janeway watched Tuvok leave. After the door closed, she eyed Picard in a familiar manner, leading to tense anticipation of teasing. But it wasn't forthcoming.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," he commented, sipping lukewarm Earl Grey.

"It's just -- "

He waited, wondering if he would have to ask.

"You honestly wouldn't be jealous," she exclaimed. "If she showed an attraction to another man."

"Attraction isn't threatening. I happen to know she's been attracted to a variety of people of both genders, over the years we've been together. Somehow she's still here."

Janeway fell quiet, and now she was actively trying to hide her feelings. She was surprised, he thought.

The door opened without audible warning, and Deanna strode in with a padd. "This is for you. Engineering reports. What are you up to, Captain?"

"Having tea with a friend?" Picard raised his cup to Janeway. "Are you picking up the children from school?"

"Shortly. I came up to the bridge to check long range scans."

"And?"

"Nothing on our sensors, but I can sense someone -- around fifty of them, non-human, unrecognizable to me."

Picard put the cup down and suppressed the urge to leap up and call for a red alert. The last few times she'd done this, he had regretted delaying. But alarming Janeway for nothing wouldn't do, at this point, so he hoped to avoid it unless it was necessary.

"Send the _Cochrane_ to investigate." The Type 11 shuttle was better equipped than some of the smaller models in the shuttle bay. "Have the lieutenant remodulate the sensors, if you haven't already."

"Yes, sir." She strode from the ready room.

"Remodulate them how?" Janeway asked. 

"There are a few species that cloak themselves, out in the Beta Quadrant. Scanning for dechyon or tetryon particles can help. Not always, however."

Again, Janeway fell silent.

"Kathryn?"

"It's going to be harder than I was imagining, to get home," she said. "Isn't it? Every time I have a reason to ask, it sounds worse than before."

"I wish I could say. Judging from the instructions we had, I agree that's likely the case."

She stood up as he did, looked at him again, and he felt as though she were assessing him somehow. "I'm sorry," she said after a long moment, smiling again suddenly. "It's just that I've known Tuvok for a long time. It isn't often that he's impressed by someone. I think you also made him a little homesick. He and T'Pel are bondmates, and though they wouldn't name it so, they love each other deeply. I'm starting to see that you and Deanna are similar, in that way."

It gave him pause. "Similar to Vulcans? That's not what she's told me. And the Phase is nothing like pon farr."

Janeway's grin returned. "Obviously that's not what I meant," she said.

He left the ready room without thinking, Janeway following, and saw that deLio had replaced Natalia -- of course, the shift change. How well trained he was that he didn't have to think about it now. "G'nes na fel?"

deLio bowed. "G'nes fel. Good night, Captain."

"We'll certainly hope so. You know what she sensed?"

"The _Cochrane_ launched a moment ago. We will keep watch."

In the lift, Janeway appraised him again. 

"Can you keep a secret?" he asked, hoping to shift the conversation away from the bond.

"Of course." She smiled fondly.

Picard almost reconsidered. "It's impossible to surprise Deanna. You have to not react to things emotionally, to pull it off. So it's not a simple thing to do."

"Are you throwing a surprise party?"

"Her birthday is three days from now. I always try, with mixed results."

"That sounds almost impossible -- I'm in. What are we planning?"

"I don't know. You'll have to surprise me, too."

"Challenge accepted. How am I supposed to time it?"

"I'll check the schedule and send you a copy of hers." 

The lift stopped. As they left it on deck eight, Chakotay came from the other direction. "We may have a problem."

"Tell me something new, Chakotay," Janeway exclaimed. Her hands went to her hips as the two captains stopped.

"Dalby," Chakotay said. "He's back to scheming against Starfleet."

"Oh, God," Janeway muttered, turning to Picard.

Chakotay continued. "He's trying to get the other former Maquis on board with a plan to steal a shuttle. He just tried to tell me they were abandoning that plan, but I'd assume that's because I didn't go along with it."

"Let them try," Picard said.

The two officers turned to stare at him.

"Computers aboard the _Enterprise_ respond to registered users only. Your crew are guests, so transporters, shuttles, weapons lockers and sensitive areas such as engineering won't respond to them."

"You don't think Dalby would kidnap one of your crew to do the job?" Chakotay asked.

"He could, but the crew with no reason to take a shuttle are locked out of them as well. Where do they think they might go with a shuttle?"

"One of the space stations we passed several months ago would be sufficient. Some of the crew have agitated to stay and settle in the Delta Quadrant, rather than face the possibility of traveling for the rest of our lives through dangerous regions of space," Janeway said. "At different points we've come across suitable worlds. But Chakotay and I argued that doing so puts us at risk -- we're surrounded by species that range in temperament from guarded to violent, and it's likely we would be assimilated before very long."

"Some were willing to take their chances in spite of that," Chakotay added. "I wasn't among them. Dalby is one of the few malcontents left -- most of the former Maquis are with us, in returning to the Alpha Quadrant. Particularly now that you're here to tell us it will happen without repercussions for them."

Picard started to walk again. "So what are you going to do with Dalby?"

"You have a comfortable brig, I assume?" Janeway said.

"The bunks are a little hard. The decor is less than inspiring." Picard passed Janeway's door, and she came with him. Chakotay stayed at her side as well. "Are you taking him with you when you go?"

"Do I have to make a decision now?"

"I suppose not." 

When the doors opened, Picard heard Jean-Pierre laughing, and then Cordelia -- smiling, he strolled in to find Yves sitting in the far corner of the couch doing homework with his mother, the twins on the floor behind the easy chair building a corral of sticky blocks around themselves with Fidele's help, and Amy at his desk -- she got up and ran at him, leaping over the block walls. The desk was covered with some of her craft supplies.

He accepted and returned the hug from her warmly, picking her up briefly to do so, noting Deanna's smile at them. "What are you making?"

"A bezzilbah," she blurted.

"I'll look forward to figuring out what that is."

Amy grinned and went back to the desk, stepping over the walls of blocks carefully. Yves greeted Janeway and Chakotay enthusiastically, jumping up with his padd in hand. "Can I get help with my math?" he exclaimed, looking at Janeway.

Deanna got up and navigated the obstacle course of Yves, the coffee table, the twins and their blocks, and patted Picard's arm as she walked to the bedroom door. "Probably a good idea. I'm a little tired for tackling Euclidean vectors today."

"Someone's stealing a shuttle, by the way," Picard offered casually.

"He can try." Deanna passed through the door and disappeared into their bedroom.

Picard turned to Chakotay and Janeway, shrugged, gestured to invite them to seat themselves. Janeway joined Yves to help him. Chakotay settled on the other end of the couch. 

Deanna returned as Picard turned from the replicator with a glass in each hand, one for Chakotay and the other for her; he handed it off and crossed to give the other to his guest. 

"It's getting a little crowded in here," Picard commented as he took the one easy chair so he could see his guests across the coffee table. 

"I suppose we could annex Mendez' quarters, but as regulations are written you'd have to marry or adopt him," Deanna said. She went to sit with the twins inside their corral, cross-legged on the floor, and gave Pierre a one-armed hug before picking up blocks to help them add another layer to their wall.

"I knew there had to be a reason we hadn't done it already. He's not my type."

He didn't have to look to know she was smiling, when she replied. "You don't have a type."

Picard glanced at Yves. "Do I have a type?"

"She's over there," Yves said, pointing with the stylus he was using. 

The peace lasted for forty-five minutes, just enough time for Yves to finish his math and for Picard to have a casual conversation with Chakotay about the origin of his tattoo. The only interruption was brief -- a call from deLio to let him know the shuttle _Cochrane_ had returned, without incident but unfortunately without information that would explain Deanna's reported alien presence.

Suddenly, a loud pop interrupted Chakotay's description of the Rubber Tree People mid-sentence, and part of Amy's project flew across the room, bounced off Picard's shoulder, and skittered across the coffee table to hit Yves in the knee. Yves picked it up and went to return it to her, flinching away when she shoved half her materials from the desk in fury.

"Amy," Picard said, raising his voice and glaring at her.

Yves retreated, putting the easy chair and his father between himself and his sister. 

"Stupid thing!" Amy shouted. Now Janeway was eyeing the girl in surprised dismay.

At that point, Deanna stood up and stared at their red-faced little girl, crossing her arms. It might work, it might not, but Picard watched the two of them face off with the intent to spring up and catch Amy if she tried to flee their quarters. Amy's chest heaved and she charged around the end of the desk, but lost steam and redirected her ire, kicking the desk instead of the block edifice in front of it.

"Come here?" Picard made it a request, knowing better than to demand, holding out an arm. She lunged, barely remembering to leap over the blocks in time, and joined him, clambering into his lap and grabbing his jacket in both fists, curling up. Her head bumped his chin as she settled in, the quiet hitching of her breath slowing down. Crisis averted.

"At least she didn't get really mad," Pierre commented, as if remarking upon the color of the walls. Cordelia left the block corral, barely able to step over the wall with her short legs, and jogged over to climb up with her sister and hug her.

"I'm going to get more blocks," Deanna told Pierre. She got up off the floor, leaning to look at Picard with a smile. "You need to requisition more lap space, apparently."

"The concept of taking turns hasn't made it to Betazed yet?"

She went into the children's rooms. Chakotay seemed a little too amused. Then he turned his head slightly, looking at Janeway as she studied the padd with Yves, who had returned to Janeway's side to finish his math. Yves cast a glance at the commander, at Picard, and looked up at Janeway. His expression reminded Picard of Deanna being mischevious.

"If you're done with the homework, Yves, why don't you get your trebuchet? We'll get it into a holodeck and see if it works."

"Yeah! Captain Janeway helped me with it, you know? We tested it here but I know we can get a lot more range with it!"

It was a good enough distraction to get both girls off his lap, and all four of the children vanished into their rooms, where they loudly told their mother about the new plan. Fidele started to push block walls over and herd block piles with his paws toward the toy box in the corner.

"You were saving that for a reason," Janeway said. She propped her elbow on the arm of the couch, chin resting on her knuckles. She obviously felt quite at home.

"Catching him before he could get himself into trouble, trying to read people. Be careful," Picard warned, waving a finger at Chakotay. "Or have something at the ready to embarrass him back."

Janeway chuckled. "Yves already had the talk from me. Probably from everyone else as well. He's trying, Jean-Luc. But it's hard to resist that temptation, at his age."

"Oh, I remember, believe it or not -- the Picard boys terrorized the French countryside."

Getting the trebuchet into the lift turned out to be the bottleneck -- it fit through the doors in their quarters, but the frame stuck against the edges of the turbolift doors. Picard had to call the transporter room and have it beamed to the one free holodeck so the rest of them could get into the lift. On deck six, the children ran ahead, Fidele on their heels, Janeway and Chakotay right behind them with Deanna, and Picard came along last. When his commbadge chirped he stopped walking to answer.

"Sir," deLio said. "I am sorry to disturb you. Security has apprehended four of the _Voyager_ crew. They were attempting to access the shuttle bay."

Deanna glanced back, as she and Janeway stopped walking. Chakotay came back to them, arms crossed. 

"Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay and I will be there shortly. Picard out." He turned around, to head for the lift they had just vacated. "I'll be back, Dee."

"They were accessing the shuttle bay when they were caught?" Chakotay exclaimed as they rode the turbolift downward. "I wonder who they other three were."

As they reached the doors to the main shuttle bay, the two lieutenants standing watch over the four would-be shuttle thieves turned around. They weren't armed, however, Picard knew they didn't need to be. A force field had gone up the minute they tried to open the door.

"I'm disappointed," Chakotay announced. Two of the four looked chagrined; the other two frowned, and one actually raised his chin defiantly. None of them were in uniform.

"A fine way to show appreciation to your host, stealing his shuttle," Janeway said. "We could have just dropped you off somewhere on the way to our wormhole, when repairs are done."

The defiant one looked a little startled. 

"You thought we were forcing you to go back? Why would we do that?" Chakotay exclaimed. "There are no orders to detain you -- I'd be in the brig with you, if the Maquis were supposed to be brought in."

Now three of them looked embarrassed. Picard glanced at Lieutenant Sedek; at his nod, the young Vulcan sidled to the nearby panel and tapped a few controls. The force field dissipated in a flash of blue sparks.

"Return to your quarters. If you have concerns, we can talk about them in the morning. I'll be in briefing room four at eight hundred hours -- pass word to anyone else who wants to join us," Chakotay exclaimed.

It wasn't over, Picard thought, but the four dispersed, slowly. Once they had gone Picard thanked and dismissed his lieutenants. A few moments of listening to their footfalls until they got in a turbolift passed.

Picard smiled at Janeway. "Shall we go see about a trebuchet?"

 

\--------------------------------

The following morning Chakotay headed out early, to see about addressing "Maquis trauma," as he had called it -- residual worries about the future due to past actions. Janeway headed for her own date with sickbay after a leisurely breakfast alone.

She was surprised to find the Wildmans in the turbolift. Naomi was ecstatic, introducing her father while trying to keep her feet on the floor.

"Where are you off to this morning?" Janeway asked with a fond smile. 

"The bridge," Naomi exclaimed. "Captain Picard invited us."

Janeway leaned away slightly, as if scrutinizing her anew. "Are you interviewing for a new job?"

And another surprise as Naomi went sober. "Well... Mom and Dad said we probably weren't going to be on _Voyager_ any more. I really wish -- "

"Oh, Naomi, I'm not upset. I was teasing -- I know, already, because I suggested it to Captain Picard. I think you should spend time with your father."

"I don't understand -- does Naomi have a job?" her father asked.

It took what remained of the short ride to the bridge to explain to her father about the position of captain's assistant, and Janeway bade them farewell as the lift door closed behind them. The turbolift took her downward again, finally depositing her in the corridor outside sickbay. 

And more surprises were in store for her when she entered. Tuvok stood with Chakotay and Deanna, waiting at the end of the biobeds they would be using. 

"Hi," Chakotay said. He must have felt a little off kilter as well, as after a pause he offered what could have been motivation to be there, but clearly wasn't. "I think I got through to them -- the rest of them shouldn't be an issue, even if Dalby loses it again."

"Excellent." She glanced up at Tuvok. "I didn't expect to see you here. Everything all right?"

"I spoke with Commander Troi yesterday afternoon. I asked her if she would be amenable to my observing the procedure today. She indicated that was solely your decision."

"I'm not the one with the active role in it, so if you're okay with it...." 

Deanna nodded, gesturing for her to move to the bed. "Whenever you're ready."

A couple of chairs were moved into place -- Tuvok, being more interested in the process, settled on Deanna's side of the arrangement. Chakotay moved to the head end of Janeway's bed. So the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes was his face.

Instead of Mengis prompting verbally, she was startled by Deanna's voice -- nothing like her spoken voice, but distinctively her. {We will go longer today. Start earlier than _Voyager_. Think about -- }

Suddenly she remembered being tortured by Cardassians, the pain flooding her -- then like before the memory faded, the pain faded, and they moved on to related memories, scanning through to be thorough. She remembered being ordered into the situation, remembered retrieving the wounded Cardassian, associated memories were all intact, but the disturbance had gone. Several other similar instances received similar treatement. Even a memory from Academy days, of a particular survival exercise that had ended with injury. 

The impulse she now understood to be Deanna pushing her onward jumped back to the Delta Quadrant, triggering other disturbing memories of the Kazon -- it was as if they'd been touched to plasma, each image flashing up to her attention, and the associated agony sputtered out to a faded memory of it. The remnants flew past with each jump to the next disturbance. The agony of losing crew, the agony of seeing her ship commandeered, the pain of thinking Chakotay might stay with Riley --

Somehow, it disrupted the flow. Her surprise, she thought, and Deanna smoothed it over -- for the first time Janeway noticed Tuvok was with them. He must have melded with Deanna, and that surprised her as well, but she accepted it -- Tuvok was a trusted friend who had seen her at her worst. They had melded before; she knew he kept her thoughts as private as his own.

The familiar impulse to move forward came and the Borg came up at once, that initial shock of seeing the cube on the viewscreen and remembering the death toll, the number of vessels lost and here was a lone ship in a far quadrant with no allies -- the level of anxiety diminished radically within seconds. Skipping from one encounter with the Collective to the next, repeatedly, Janeway sensed for the first time Deanna's response to it. The Borg were clearly not her favorite, either.

The process drew out longer and longer, far longer than the day before. More memories of battles, sometimes with aliens they had never identified, more memories of encounters resulting in injuries to herself, her ship, her crew.... It shocked her that as each one came up, she still reacted to it as if it were happening again. It shocked her again, that there were so many now.

All at once the connection shattered. Janeway sat up, inhaling a long gulp of air, the shrieking of sickbay monitors causing an immediate tensing as she reflexively swung her legs off the bed.

Chakotay's hand on her arm caught her. He guided her back onto the bed. "Kathryn, stay here."

"What's -- "

"I don't know. Stay here."

She turned toward Deanna and her heart leaped into her throat. The doctor and one of his assistants were at Deanna's side, the readouts were going wild over her head, and all around sickbay the red alert beacons were flashing.

"Get ready for casualties," Mengis shouted over his shoulder -- Janeway heard the pneumatics of the door, and another doctor came to look at Deanna. 

It registered that Deanna's body was convulsing. The nurse's hand on Deanna's forehead did little to keep her head on the pillow. Her mouth opened and a strangled noise came out -- continued attempts led to words, badly mangled by the ongoing struggle against her own musculature.

"Mengis to Picard," the doctor shouted over the changing shrill of biobed monitors. 

"This is a bad time," came the response -- tense, terse, nothing at all like Janeway had ever heard Picard.

"She's trying to say Borg!"

Within moments, the monitors were drowned out by the system-wide page. "All hands, brace! Power down non-essential systems!"

Janeway had a moment of awareness in which to register Chakotay reaching over her, grabbing both sides of her biobed, his tense expression inches from her face. The universe twisted, contorted, turned several shades of red, and went out.


	20. Chapter 20

Picard checked the time when he finally left the bridge to deLio. Three hours, since he'd initiated the red alert. Since the last time he'd had any sense of Deanna. The adrenaline crash had come after they'd gotten away from the area; the longer he fought it, the more weary he felt -- and he suspected he'd have to contend with some vicarious trauma of his own, depending on what had happened to cut him off from Deanna so completely. The absence of pain seemed to indicate she, and their bond, were still intact. But there had been absolutely no response to any attempt to reach her. She had to still be in sickbay.

"Glendenning to Picard."

Leaning against the side of the lift, Picard sighed. "Yes, Tom."

"Everything all right? Is Dee okay?" That he was now focusing on something other than damage reports or scouting the system they had taken refuge in meant that he believed they were now as safe as they could be, given their location in the galaxy.

"I think she will be. I'm on my way to sickbay. No casualties. How about you?"

"A few minor injuries. Verly's busier than she's been in weeks. Sorry about the transwarp headache. Apparently, that's a common side effect we hadn't anticipated. So what's the plan?"

" _Voyager_?" There had been crews from the _Enterprise_ aboard the disabled vessel. He assumed that no mention yet from Tom meant that the vessel was either fine, or completely destroyed in the brief transwarp jump they had resorted to, getting out of the path of six Borg cubes that had appeared on sensors just moments after Deanna's warning. 

"Janeway's pride and joy is fine. I suppose the positive side of it is that we're now in spitting distance of another planet we can ground her on. I've deployed some probes in the same configuration as before, adding another layer of them farther out to give us an edge. I still have a shuttle out looking for the last of Janeway's crew but we'll figure that one out, get them back in the fold."

"Thanks, Tom. Picard out."

Sickbay was a mess. The entire ship would be -- being pulled through transwarp while clinging to _Venture_ via tractor beams and sychronized through some trickery involving prefix codes to keep the inertial dampeners coordinating with the engines of another starship had barely worked. The lines of headache sufferers extended down the corridor. He passed them and edged through the open doors past an ensign who was leaving, to find the main sickbay jammed and all medical personnel in full hustle dealing with it all. Janeway's EMH was even present and working. Picard assumed Deanna would be elsewhere, out of the way, and skirted the knots of patients and treating doctors and nurses, heading for the critical care ward around the corner and out of sight of the triage area.

The lighting here was dimmer and no medical staff present. Janeway sat on one of the four beds, Chakotay still at her side, and both of them looked at him without speaking. From the lack of an active monitor, Picard assumed they were only there to sit with Deanna. He gave a slight nod and continued to the next bed, studying the monitor to see if she was stable.

"Jean-Luc," Janeway said, approaching quietly. She put her hand on his arm. Sparing her a glance, he recognized immediately from her tears and the woeful expression that she thought Deanna was gone.

Picard spent a moment looking at Deanna's face, silently calling her. No response. He brushed curls back from her face, then placed his hand on her forehead. She looked afraid, in her unconscious state, as if she'd been aware of what had happened.

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. The need for sleep dragged on him, but he focused on hajira instead, reaching with all he could muster to find her. The sensation of falling was unsettling. Just as he felt that it was getting out of his control, she was there. They spun together for a while, until he felt the flicker of her awareness, a push of her attention, and they returned to consciousness abruptly. 

Picard flinched, his eyes opening and focusing on her face to find her looking up at him - she reached for him, actually pushing up from the bed into his arms. When he reluctantly let go, she settled into a seated position on the bed, and he became aware that their audience had changed. Mengis was standing next to him, scanning, mostly Deanna, but then started on him. The doctor offered no comment and left, which Picard took to mean they were fine.

Then Picard noticed that nearby Natalia stood at attention, a padd in hand. When he made eye contact, she advanced and held it out until he took it. The lieutenant glanced at Deanna, received a wan smile in response, and departed double-time without a word.

"The ship?" Deanna whispered. She cleared her throat. "How are you?"

"Minimal damage. Attack pattern 0."

Deanna made a noise that might have been a tired version of a laugh. "Get the hell to the next sector, warp factor Tom?"

"My head feels like -- " He snorted. "Like I've been drinking Romulan Ale. All the misery, none of the fun. What happened?"

He meant what happened to her, that just as he reached the bridge to address a blip on sensors, he'd felt the pain from her with no idea of what it meant. Her blank look told him that she hadn't gotten clarification from him telepathically, which told him that whatever had happened had robbed her of that ability. He fervently hoped that it was temporary, grieving a little for her. She hated feeling so numb.

"What happened, to leave you unconscious for so long?"

"Did they establish contact with you?" Her question could only mean the aliens she had sensed. 

"When I got to the bridge there were six ships in front of us. Mendez tried to hail them without a response. Then people started getting headaches, so rather than debate it I decided to lock down -- but then Tom called, and the sensors picked up another fleet of ships on the way, and then Mengis gave me your message -- we appeared to be sitting in the middle of a gathering of fleets, with three separate species arriving. At the first sign of trouble, Tom and I had pre-emptively swapped prefix codes, set up a network of tractor beams, his engineer and Data recalculated to create a stable warp field around all three vessels, and so we all survived the test run of his new transwarp engines. Shook the ship around like a damned toy. Everything formerly on a shelf is likely elsewhere. Half the power grid flickered off for a while, and the bioneurals probably have a headache, too."

"I think we found another species of telepath that does not communicate verbally. They hailed, but I was in the middle of treatment -- I was so unguarded and open that it destroyed the link with Kathryn and overloaded my paracortex. My ears are still ringing and the headache is sitting on my eyes. How long was I out?"

"A little more than three hours. Just enough time for ten minutes of transwarp, fifteen minutes of waking up and climbing off the floor, followed by a couple of hours of figuring out what happened, what broke, and how to fix it." Picard glanced at Janeway and Chakotay, who had approached quietly. "And I'm not sure how long I was looking for you."

"It was a long time. At least an hour. I wasn't sure what you were doing, at first." Janeway smiled sympathetically and touched Deanna's sleeve. "Are you all right, Deanna?"

"I will be. I'm not in any shape to help you, at the moment. I can't even sense anything."

"We thought you might not recover," Chakotay said quietly. 

Deanna smiled at Picard, managing to glow at him despite being so obviously weary and very likely slowing down her recovery from being comatose. "I've heard that before."

"So they made contact with you -- what was the message?" Picard asked.

"A warning. The Borg and the Krillar were on the way. They sensed me, as I sensed them, and when they detected the other two fleets on the way, they dropped their cloak and attempted to let me know. I don't believe they intended to knock me into a coma."

"Then it's a good thing we didn't fire on them. It's nice to know there are telepaths out here that don't hate us or want us under their control."

"I was afraid that it was something to do with me," Janeway said. "And then it seemed you weren't going to wake up. Nothing the doctors did worked. How did he...."

"How did he find me and pull me out of a coma. It isn't the first time. Greg tries, but Jean doesn't wait for him to get there to scan me while he's doing it."

"All relationships need a little mystery," Picard said, reaching, and she slid off the biobed into his arm. He had to catch her when her legs gave out. 

"You shouldn't be up," Janeway exclaimed.

"I want to go home," Deanna complained when Picard put her back on the bed.

"Not sure I'm up to carrying you that far. I could probably fall asleep standing up." 

"I suppose the transporter is offline. You could ask Q for help getting us home."

Picard couldn't manage a glare. Leaning against the edge of her biobed, he settled for a groan. "Brat."

Janeway frowned at each of them in turn. "Chakotay and I should leave you to get some rest. Which I think I'll ask the doctor to make sure you do."

After they left, Picard let himself slide down to sit on the floor, lacking the energy to even care about getting a chair. Deanna shifted her legs off and lowered herself to sit with him, leaning against him, and he fell asleep with his nose and chin in her hair.

Some time later, he awakened to find the children had somehow found them. The twins and Amy occupied their laps, both girls leaning against him and Jean-Pierre's feet against Picard's leg while mostly sitting in Deanna's lap, soundly asleep. Yves leaned against Deanna with his head on her shoulder. His eyes opened as Picard watched him. The look on his face said that he'd just had his first traumatic experience -- fear, wariness, and a little pain showed in his eyes. 

Deanna raised her head a few millimeters, and her arm came up; her hand landed on Yves' head, and she leaned to kiss his hair. Yves eyes closed again. 

Picard had a thought of moving everyone to quarters, but exhaustion dragged him back to sleep.

\-----------------------------

Janeway watched the twins drag a box of blocks from the toy box. Cordelia let her brother dump them out while she picked up Mr. Pogs. They were as listless as they'd been all evening. She'd volunteered to babysit after Deanna had been discharged from sickbay. School had been cancelled, and everyone's schedule disrupted. Jean-Luc had caught his second wind and returned to the bridge. Deanna was asleep again, in her bedroom. Yves had helped Amy clean up her craft supplies, put things back on shelves, straighten up their rooms, and now the two of them worked quietly, sitting across the desk from each other. 

Cordelia came to the easy chair and climbed up with Janeway. She nestled against Janeway's side, her stuffed toy curled up against her own side. Janeway rested her arm over the little girl and closed her eyes. 

Some time later, Janeway came awake, surprised that she'd been dozing -- Cordelia had slid down off her lap, and all four of the children were hurrying toward the door. Janeway turned to find Deanna had emerged, wearing a robe, her hair down around her shoulders. 

"Maman, are you okay?" Cordelia blurted into her mother's hair. Deanna got up off her knee and the children fell back to let her stand. 

"I told you, I'm just tired. And so are you," Deanna said, bending to kiss Amy's forehead. "Has anyone eaten since breakfast?"

"We had lunch." Yves sounded almost depressed, by comparison to his usual self. When asked to replicate some food, he did it without making a face, complaining, or rolling his eyes. 

Janeway helped with dinner, cleared away after, and volunteered to read the twins a story. At the end of their chosen story, both of them went to bed without a fuss. She noticed as she passed Amy's and Yves' open doors that they were also in bed.

Deanna was alone in the living room, sitting on the couch with a padd in hand. She watched Janeway return to the easy chair. "Are you all right, Kathryn?"

"I think I'm a little traumatized too. I was afraid you were dying, in sickbay."

Deanna sighed, dropping the padd next to her and slouching back against the couch. "I have no intention of letting that happen. Too much to do. We need to find those telepaths again. Any friend in the Alliance territories is a good friend."

"Deanna," Janeway began softly. "It was bad. I was in sickbay to see it. Mengis was afraid."

Deanna's eyelids drooped. Janeway suspected it was more to hide her eyes than it was residual weariness. "What was he like, when he came in?"

Not the response she anticipated. "You mean Jean-Luc? He looked like he hadn't slept in months. I thought he would be afraid, but he didn't look like it. Just determined, and a little anxious."

"It didn't damage him, then. I've been afraid that such things might injure him as well."

Janeway mused for a while about what it must have been like for Jean-Luc, sitting on the bridge knowing Deanna was in sickbay and injured. Then she noticed Deanna's gaze, and sighed. 

"Where is Chakotay?" Deanna asked.

"Probably asleep. Or reading. You should be asleep, too."

"I want to be awake when Jean-Luc gets home."

Janeway made an incredulous sound. "I think he would want you to rest."

"I won't be able to sleep until he's here, anyway," Deanna added softly.

The annunciator interrupted. When Deanna acknowledged it, Dr. Crusher came in. She glanced at Janeway but went to the couch, sitting on the edge of a cushion and turned to face Deanna. Janeway noticed then that she had a tricorder in hand. 

"Hello, Captain. I wanted to see how you were doing, Dee."

Deanna rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Beverly."

"You've turned into a Picard -- stubborn to a fault. You should be in sickbay."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thank you."

Beverly glared, then raised her tricorder. "Your psylosynine levels are practically non-existent."

"That would be why I am resting, and not on the bridge. If Gregory conscripted you to harass me back to sickbay, tell him it isn't working. Jean-Luc won't sleep at all that way."

Janeway agreed with Crusher, whose ire clearly indicated her train of thought -- but then the doctor set aside her medical implements and threw herself into a slump that mirrored Deanna's, arms crossed across her stomach.

"How is Tom?"

With Deanna's question, Janeway understood it. This was another of those friendships that transcended rank, and with the new awareness of boundary navigation, she could see Deanna nudging her friend from the professional realm into talking about why she was really here.

"He's fine, really. Recovered." Crusher was studying Deanna out of the corner of her eye. "What do you know about this time loop Tom is talking about? Is that how you knew to send Fidele?"

"I have a hunch you know more than you've let on, Deanna. So I'm interested in this, too," Janeway put in, seeing that this was the opportunity she'd been waiting for.

Deanna actually closed her eyes. When, after long minutes ticked past, she opened them again, she sat up. "Why do you think I know more than anyone else knows?"

"Because there's something about your reactions to some of the things that have happened that don't sit right with me otherwise. I think you might have been more upset or afraid at some points than you were."

Deanna gazed at Janeway, then turned to Crusher. "I sent Fidele because Tom would have been killed otherwise."

"I suppose there are other things you are doing to keep the rest of us alive, too, that you haven't told anyone about?" 

Janeway had to give the doctor credit for the ability to at least appear to be calm -- though her voice shook a little, proving it was just appearance.

"It isn't encouraging to see when you hit bottom, and force that determined stiff-jawed attitude -- that's precisely what you are pushing me to stop doing," Janeway said softly.

It dislodged Deanna's facade just enough that Janeway caught a glimpse of how much sadness her dark eyes could hold. Deanna rose and left the couch -- not to hide in the bedroom, as Janeway initially thought, but to head for the children's rooms. 

"I'm sorry, Dr. Crusher," Janeway said. "About my reaction in your sickbay."

Crusher met her eyes for the first time since coming in. Her restrained smile indicated she understood the apology. "Are you feeling better?"

"Oh, yes. But in some ways not -- the better I feel, the more I see, the more I realize why such pains have been taken to help me recuperate."

Crusher looked as tired as the Picards, now. "Tom is retiring in a few months. We agreed that it would be better for both of us. All of us reach that point at which we are just done with it -- we could let it continue to burn us to a cinder, but I'd rather transfer to Starfleet Medical. Tom's willing to support that."

"He's not going to take a promotion?"

Crusher's ungraceful snort of amusement startled her. "Tom as an admiral -- can you just imagine?"

"Now that you mention it -- no." Janeway grinned at the image of Tom Glendenning slinging puns in the middle of some meeting of the top brass. 

"They wouldn't offer it, anyway. And he never made any pretense of having that ambition."

Deanna returned, pulling her hair up as she crossed the room and returned to her spot on the couch. "I had to turn the generator up a bit. I'm afraid I project a little more strongly than anyone else."

"Oh," Crusher exclaimed. "Is Yves all right? This last encounter must have been horrible for him."

"All of them knew something happened. Malia couldn't keep them still -- the twins were inconsolable. The minute she found out I was awake she brought them all to sickbay. I woke up from sleeping for two hours to find them all there, piled around me."

"I thought they wouldn't develop their abilities until later," Janeway said.

"Betazoid children are often sensitive to their parents. Yves was no different, when he was five, and Amy was always extremely sensitive to me. Even before she was born. She kicked me any time I was upset."

"And that was the year of upset after problem after headache," Crusher said sympathetically. "I felt so terrible about that, when the two of you finally started telling us about it."

Deanna wasn't happy with this turn of conversation. But for once, she didn't change the subject, as Janeway expected her to. 

"Beverly, you asked me once if I thought the bond would become a problem. I said at the time that I didn't think it would. I was wrong."

Crusher stared, quite dismayed, very upset. "Do you mean it's a problem for you both, or just for you?"

Deanna looked sad again. "He only starts about moving on to admiral when I am having difficulties."

Comprehension washed most of the worry from Crusher's face. "You're hanging on until he starts because he actually wants to?"

"We have a standing policy to wait until everything is minimally stressful to make that decision. I keep expecting it to happen. This time... he's invoking different reasons."

"So maybe you will come sit on a beach with me, instead of continuing the shipboard life?"

Janeway wasn't expecting that suggestion to have the impact it did. Deanna smiled, though she still looked to be on the verge of tears. "It depends on which beach. Those Oregon beaches are cold."

Crusher was looking at Janeway, now. "We could do a preview on the holodeck. Pick one out and have it all planned so all you need to do is show up and take off your robe. Kathryn can come too."

"Are we taking Tom and Jean-Luc with us, to this beach party?" Deanna asked.

"Would that mean more or less stress?"

Deanna sighed. "If we can talk Tom into not flirting with me."

A snort from Crusher alerted Janeway that this was not likely to be the case -- so Tom was as flirtatious as ever, it was expected, and Crusher didn't mind it. Interesting. 

"Well, regardless of whether he retires or not, I'm hoping that Jean-Luc takes you on a long vacation after this adventure," Crusher said. "You both need it. Let me know if you want to drop off the kids. Although I suppose Grandma would take them in a heartbeat -- or Captain Janeway. Yves couldn't stop talking about her at the picnic, when Tom asked him about the trebuchet."

"Thank you, Bev. I think spending time with you and Tom would be good for them, actually. Give them a break from -- what was it you said, Kathryn? Masochistic introspection?"

Janeway laughed, and so did Crusher -- it was a well-timed bit of levity. They didn't hear the door open, and so Jean-Luc made it into the room before anyone realized he'd come in. Crusher turned first, her laughter cut short. And at that point Janeway wondered that Deanna hadn't been first to notice, and react. Perhaps there was more to her condition than had been explained to Janeway.

"Don't stop on my account," he remarked as the room fell quiet. "That's certainly a sound we need more of, today."

Deanna sat up straighter, but Crusher lunged, grabbing her shoulder, shoving. "Uh uh, no, stop working. Shut up, Jean-Luc."

Janeway expected a glare, or at least some reaction -- but he walked around the easy chair to the other end of the couch. To be next to Deanna, obviously, as he sat just an inch or two from her. No polite and proper distance today. And Deanna didn't hesitate to drape her hand over his thigh, as if it were the arm of the couch.

Janeway raised her eyes, so as not to make it obvious she was noticing changes in body language from what she'd come to expect from them -- but Crusher was reacting, too. She'd stared a little long, glanced at Janeway, and gave her a lopsided grin.

"This tea isn't doing it for me," Crusher said. "I think I'll go see Guinan. See what she's been up to. Want to come, Kathryn?"

"Absolutely."

Janeway glanced back to say good night, as she followed the doctor toward the door, and was amused to find Deanna watching them with a bemused expression, and Jean-Luc smiling at them. He even gave Janeway a thumbs-up. In the corridor, walking away toward the lift, Crusher started to laugh quietly.

"Have they always been like that?" Janeway asked, unable to resist.

"I'm not sure what you mean -- I think I do, but there's a number of things about them that befuddle and bemuse."

"I would expect a couple who's been together more than a decade to be a little less... clingy."

Crusher lost some of the mirth. "You know them well enough that they relax in your presence -- you'll figure it out, if you stick around. The level of stress on duty usually correlates. They've had some terrible things happen in their lives."

The lift carried them to deck ten. They arrived to find Ten Forward nearly empty, but Guinan smiled as they approached the bar, setting a teacup on a saucer in front of each of them as they seated themselves in front of her. 

Crusher ordered up a cup of tea, predictably. Supposing that it was late, and she didn't need alcohol or the pretense of it, so did Janeway. Guinan had a good selection of herbal varieties.

"Your friend Annika is doing better," Guinan said unexpectedly, looking Janeway in the eye. "I was a little skeptical, but she seems to be really trying."

"That's good to hear. She has been less willing, certainly. I'm not sure what changed her mind -- Deanna, most likely."

Guinan's gaze shifted right to Crusher, and the two of them exchanged a sober, knowing look. "Dee's had more challenging patients."

"Now, hang on -- that's not the first time someone's insinuated that Jean-Luc is difficult. He doesn't strike me as hardened or stubborn." The man himself had said more than once that he'd been stupid, or difficult, and it was starting to make her wonder. 

Crusher actually laughed quietly, putting her hand to her forehead. "You know, I really don't think about it much any more, but he truly has remade himself, hasn't he?" The question appeared to be directed at Guinan, as she answered it.

"He's come a long way from ordering children not to cry."

At that, Janeway almost spat out the tea she'd just sipped. Gulping, wiping a drip off her chin, she cleared her throat. "What?"

Crusher's blue eyes went hazy with memory. "He expected Will to handle the families. He wanted nothing to do with them. How many light-years he's come, to what he is now -- but he's never denied Deanna a single thing she wanted, once he figured out what it was."

"You make it sound like she's in charge."

"Tom makes it sound like I'm in charge, too, when it comes down to it. He said once it was a matter of expertise -- captains become captains by focusing on one goal, to the exclusion of all others, and there aren't classes in relationships. So he felt like I was better at it -- I think he's just happy when I'm happy. It's not a complicated thing for us, like it is with Dee and Jean-Luc."

"You're a medical officer."

Crusher rolled her eyes. "Oh, yes. I thank myself often for that. I briefly flirted with the idea, but after the bridge test I decided to go with my strengths."

Guinan finished making herself a cup of tea, went around the end of the bar, and sat on the other side of the doctor. "Mind if I join you?"

"To the ladies of Starfleet," Crusher said, raising her china cup.

"Here, here," Janeway exclaimed, touching the rim of her cup to each of theirs.

The conversation shifted to vacations, past and planned, and Guinan had suggestions for the one Crusher claimed Tom would take with her after they left space exploration behind them. It reminded Janeway of a conversation she had had with Chakotay, long ago, when they had needed a distraction from one of the dire situations they were in. 

Crusher glanced at her, finally questioning her long silence. "I'm sorry," she said tentatively. Something must be showing in Janeway's face.

"Everything reminds me of something I don't want to think about," Janeway said apologetically.

"That would be why Deanna wanted to help you," Crusher replied. "And why I'm moving to Oregon."

Guinan nodded slowly. "It feels like that, some days. It's why I enjoy babysitting."

Janeway smiled at that. "I know what you mean. Thank you for the tea. I think I will try to get some sleep."

When she returned to her quarters, she sighed and pulled the pins from her hair, walking through to the bedroom, hesitating when she saw Chakotay asleep in the bed. Briefly she wished for solitude, but after pulling off her uniform and slipping between the sheets as unobtrusively as possible, Chakotay put an arm around her waist and she found herself spooned against him. Something about being in such intimate contact with him was so relaxing, she dropped off to sleep without her customary rumination over tomorrow's tasks.


	21. Chapter 21

Picard opened his eye just a crack. Yves let go of his arm and grinned like a fiend, prompting enough curiosity that Picard opened both eyes. 

Yves kept grinning. "We're going to school. I made you breakfast."

"We did," Amy corrected, bouncing over to Yves' side. "And we got our own, and we got the twins ready, and you and Maman can get up when you want to, Papa."

There was indeed a pot of coffee, another of tea, and two mugs sitting on the coffee table, along with a couple of plates with fruit and croissants. Beyond the table, the twins were dressed and holding their padds, as if presenting for inspection.

Picard also recognized the crick in his neck, and the considerable weight of Deanna pinning him to the couch. They had never made it to bed last night. She had fallen asleep on him, their legs interwined, her head on his shoulder and one of her arms dangling off. She tensed and started to shift her weight, slowly waking.

"Good, thank you. See you after school."

A chorus of 'good bye papa' followed by scuffling and a bark from Fidele, and then the door opened and closed. Deanna moaned, raised her head, and blinked at him.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Like I need a good masseuse. How did we fall asleep here?"

"I also question how we slept through four children getting each other ready for school, with all the squabbling that surely entailed, but such are the imponderables of life. How do I feel?"

"I can't sense much. Still numb." Deanna sat up, and he managed to rearrange himself to sit next to her without too many gymnastics. His knees felt stiff. 

Picard contacted the bridge while Deanna poured coffee for them. As he'd expected, repairs on _Voyager_ were again underway, and Janeway's ship would be escorted to the new planet Tom had selected to be grounded and the engines torn into. It would be a more critical period now -- if hostile aliens arrived, they would have to stand their ground, defend themselves, if they were to succeed in getting _Voyager_ back on its way. Departing would mean losing the ship and taking the crew with them, for all intents and purposes. In this quadrant nothing of value was left abandoned for very long. 

Deanna handed him coffee as he informed Mendez he would be off duty for the day and concluded the short conversation. "I suppose that means you intend to impose your presence on me?"

"As much as you'll tolerate."

She held her mug carefully while settling against him snugly, imposing some of her wild hair on the side of his face. "Give me an hour or so to finish waking up, and impose whatever you wish."

He chuckled and sipped coffee. "I hope you take notice that our son has learned to make our coffee correctly. I say we hire him to get the rest of them to school every morning, and start sleeping in."

"If we want them to eat ice cream for breakfast all the time."

Picard felt a little guilty about that, thinking about the times he'd cheated and just let the twins have what they wanted in the interest of getting everyone out the door already -- but Dee probably already knew about that. Cordelia didn't have a sneaky bone in her body, and never told a lie.

The rest of the universe thankfully left them alone to sit with each other, nibbling croissants and chatting about the current situation. Though the doctors would surely have scolded him, he knew it would cause her more anxiety to know nothing than to keep her informed that things were being handled in her absence.

They fell silent again, as she came back from recycling the dishes and draped herself against him, arms around his waist, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

He was almost asleep again when the computer alerted them that someone didn't want them to rest. Before he could swear about it, Deanna's arms tightened around him. He asked the computer -- when it informed them that Annika Hansen waited for them, Deanna pulled away from him.

"Ignore it," he snapped. She gave him a chastising glare. 

"You do not get to assign one of your lost kittens to me, and then tell me to ignore her."

"Damn it, Dee!" He threw a cushion, one of the smaller ones, and accidentally bounced it off her buttocks. He'd intended to chuck it across the room. She came about, hands on her hips, and gave him a look that said he would pay for it, then continued toward the door, running her fingers through her hair trying to tame it.

The former Borg strode in as if she owned the place, but he was happy to note that she faltered upon seeing him. Perhaps that meant she would continue to avoid him. Her blue eyes went to Deanna at once.

"I was told that you were on medical leave -- I was concerned," Annika said quietly. Almost meekly -- Picard wondered if that would continue.

With the introduction of a guest, he took note of the fact that he still wore yesterday's uniform. While Deanna reassured Annika she was well, just tired, he slipped past them into the bedroom to discard jacket and turtleneck, and pull on a clean white shirt. He caught a look at himself in the mirror, slowed -- he didn't look older, to his eye, than he had at any point in the past years he'd been with Deanna. But the V neck of the shirt exposed wiry gray hair, and was a little less formal than he wanted to be with Annika present. He changed his mind and found a tan button-front long sleeved shirt instead. 

Then he thought about waiting until Annika left. As he sat on the bed, he then considered the situation a little longer, and realized what he'd done -- essentially he'd imposed an order on his wife. The former Borg was not Starfleet, and the first officer was not responsible for rehabilitating anyone. Counselor Troi wasn't around any longer. He was surprised that his first officer hadn't protested it yet.

So he got up again, and went back out to help his wife with the task she'd agreed to handle without questioning, despite her lack of interest in adding it to her long list of professional and personal responsibilities. It was only fair. 

The two women, now seated at the table, went quiet when he returned and went to the replicator. He brought the tea service to the table and sat next to Deanna, moving the chair a little closer to her, pouring tea.

Deanna accepted the cup from him without putting words to the questions in her eyes. She turned back to Annika. "When he touched you, what did you do?"

Annika gaped, staring at Picard, and it occurred to him after the fact that perhaps he should have asked if his presence were welcome. Then Deanna's question registered, and the captain stepped up to ask, "Was this one of our officers?"

Deanna put a hand on his thigh, but Commander Troi answered. "Yes, and you can wait until we have more information to do anything about it. Please go on, Annika. The captain needs to know as well."

Annika blushed and gazed at the surface of the table between them. She clutched the cup of tea between her two hands, as if it kept her steady. "I -- I tried to leave the holodeck. He grabbed my arm. He tried to pull me away, I am not certain where. Then Natalia came and -- "

Deanna leaned across the table, reaching, touching Annika's arm. It was enough to bring her back from the memory of what had clearly traumatized her. Annika's head jerked up, as she glanced around wildly and then closed her eyes. The tears spilling seemed to anger her.

"Who was it?" Picard asked softly. He had approved the first officer's memo, which had circulated to the entire crew, informing them of the new civilian staff who would be joining them in Ten Forward, and he was certain all of his Starfleet crew knew he expected everyone aboard to be treated with respect.

"Cadet Jacoby," Deanna said. "He's not been aboard long. The cadet followed her into the holodeck, appeared to be friendly at first, and when they walked a little into the trees, apart from the picnic, he made insinuations and touched her shoulder, then her breast, waist, and hip. She attempted to leave, as you heard."

"That was the padd Natalia tried to give me," he realized out loud. "Last night. She knew it was something I would want to know about as soon as possible. I am sorry, Ms. Hansen. I was preoccupied by Deanna's injury."

"I want to assure you that our crew does not do this sort of thing -- "

"It will be the last thing he does aboard this vessel," Picard exclaimed. 

At the anger in his voice, Deanna and Annika both turned to look at him. Annika was clearly shocked. Deanna sighed, squeezing his hand under the table. "You should talk to him," she said, a little more sternly than she perhaps needed to. "And yes, Mr. Jacoby will be disciplined for his behavior. As you can see, the captain doesn't allow that kind of disrespectful behavior aboard his ship."

"I understood that you do not feel... that you do not like me," Annika said. 

To that, he was uncertain of what to say. He sighed heavily. "My feelings about you are irrelevant. You are a member of our crew. I expect my crew to adhere to a certain standard of behavior. Jacoby's breach of conduct will be addressed, because I am responsible to each member of this crew to do so."

Deanna eyed him suspiciously now. "Why did you come back out after you left the room? That was before you found something to be an officer about."

He didn't particularly want to talk about that in front of Annika. But, Deanna waited out his hesitation, expecting an answer. "It occurred to me that I -- that the captain made a misstep. I have no right to expect you to help Ms. Hansen, to order you to, and the captain shouldn't have told you to do it. So I thought it would be the least I could do to... help."

He'd confused Annika. Deanna, however -- he had just made her proud, and happy, and now her hand slid over his thigh under the table. "What a good husband I have," she said, leaning to kiss his cheek.

"You talk as if you are multiple people," Annika said.

"We are multiple people. Parents, to the children. Friends, to our friends. Officers on duty." Deanna picked up her cup to sip, keeping her left hand on his knee.

"Spouses," Picard added, since she'd left it out. "But not when we're on the bridge."

"Not everyone is so compartmentalized with the roles they play, this is true. But humans in close daily contact form friendships, or at least positive working relationships, because it makes it easier to do difficult work together than if they are emotionally distant. Sometimes those relationships become closer ones. Sometimes they become intimate friendships. That can also affect how we perform on duty, which is what Starfleet expects to address in regulations. They know better than to prohibit relationships. We keep our roles separate as best we can -- knowing what motivates our decisions helps us avoid improprieties."

Annika didn't seem any less confused by that. 

Deanna went with one of her tried-and-true tactics. "Have you experienced difficulties with conflicts between friendships and duty?"

"I have friends among the crew on _Voyager_ , however, they often express frustration or embarrassment with things that I say. I do not know how to prevent this. It impedes relationships. I believe it is one of the many things that has kept others suspicious of my suggestions whenever there is a circumstance endangering the ship or its crew."

Out of the corner of his eye, Picard noticed the tilt of Deanna's head. She squeezed his fingers, out of sight under the table, but it took a sidelong glance from her to register that she wanted him to respond. He considered the implied question, trying to set aside disappointment that Deanna's empathy was being so slow to return.

"I'm not sure about the nature of the difficulty you describe," he said. Annika's head came up a millimeter -- she had not expected him to respond. "Perhaps if you gave us an example."

"In an interaction with Mr. Kim, shortly after I was separated from the collective, I recognized that he was physically attracted to me, and when I observed this he became extremely anxious. It did not make sense to me that observing the obvious would be so disconcerting to him. Since then I have avoided making use of remaining implants to gather such data, and tried to learn how to judge -- I notice others make comments, eliciting responses from amusement to similar commentary in return. They appear to know when commentary is appropriate and cannot seem to provide information to me in a useful manner about this."

"I see," Deanna replied. "I believe you may be having difficulty with contextual cues?"

"The Doctor attempted to help me understand context -- it has been unsuccessful."

"Real people would be better than holographic people, for developing an understanding of contextual cues," Picard said. "As good as the computer can be with holograms, it won't capture subtleties in communication. Nonverbal communication is important. Other people may not be aware on a level that you can be, with the implants, but they are nevertheless informed by the subtle changes in expression and posture."

"Or, we can provide a few examples," Deanna said. "We already have, in a way. You requested that I work with Annika -- that was made by Captain Picard, but the first officer doesn't take the role of counselor. Our job descriptions are one kind of context."

"I was delegating to Counselor Troi -- the officer who was promoted to first officer, quite a long time ago -- out of instinct. I recognized your problem as something she would excel in solving. But Counselor Troi is not a role she currently has."

"I could have questioned it," Deanna said. She turned her chair slightly to smile at him more directly. "I agreed to do it, as I said before, as a favor to Captain Janeway as well as recognizing that my own captain felt it was specific enough not to give the job to Counselor Davidson -- likely because Mr. Davidson is not Betazoid, and it would be most efficient to have an empath work with you."

Annika frowned. Her confusion was plain to see. She hesitated to speak of it, which was another change. Picard poured himself more tea. This was nearly as painful as trying to get Amy to be patient.

"What confuses you?" Deanna asked finally.

"I have been punished for having a different perspective by Captain Janeway."

"No," Picard began, but a look from Deanna silenced him. 

"Could you elaborate a little more?"

Annika continued to frown, glancing up at Deanna as if she expected she would be chastised again. "I questioned the captain's decision to show compassion to Species 8472, because I knew that it would put the ship at risk. She wanted to return it to fluidic space rather than destroy it. It was a foolish and pointless risk to our lives, to show it mercy and return it to its own kind. I sent it back to the Hirogen vessel."

"You were disciplined for insubordination. Not for a different opinion." Picard thought he remembered Janeway's version of this. "How is this relevant to our discussion of contextual cues?"

"I have observed other officers disobey orders as well, and without repercussions. Deanna said that she could have questioned the order to help me. Yet she chose not to. I am not able to understand that choice -- what is the context?"

Picard raised an eyebrow at Deanna. That sounded more like a question she could answer.

"In my context, I have known Captain Picard for more than twenty years. I know him well enough that I understand he values officers with the judgment to question his orders, to not allow him to go unchallenged in the event that he is acting out of personal bias or making a mistake. He values the opinions of experienced crew. Therefore, knowing regulations and knowing his personal and professional set of values and principles, I can decide how best to act -- the request for my intervention was out of bounds for me as an officer, but I understood why he made it. He knows that you need help. He knows I helped in the past with others who were having similar difficulties. He knows I understand the Borg better than Counselor Davidson, and he knows I will be able to find others who could help you, in the event it's needed. That he recognized his request as out of bounds after the fact and decided to make amends by offering me help demonstrates his concern for maintaining the personal side of our relationship."

"So you are basing the choice to question orders on your knowledge of the officer issuing them. More than on your job description, or your personal preference, or his."

"Every choice has a consequence. You disobeyed Captain Janeway without understanding the consequences to your relationship with her, or the consequences to the ship and crew," Picard said. "Species 8472 does not adhere to the Borg belief that once something is decided to be true, nothing can change that 'fact.' Janeway's attempt could have changed their minds and removed the Federation from their list of enemies. Returning a wounded creature to its home, rather than destroying it, can change a hostile relationship to a friendly one. Treaties have been made in the Federation based on altruistic acts toward others, despite historical violence."

"The captain told me a story about such behavior. At the time, I was not convinced. I knew the crew was at risk. I acted to mitigate that risk and prevent loss of life."

Deanna pressed her lips together, obviously suppressing a reaction. She raised her eyes again a moment later. "You knew, as the Borg know, that Starfleet officers have multiple objectives, and peace and diplomacy are more desirable to them than conflict and destruction of life. I am curious as to why your captain's choice meant so little to you. Everyone else on _Voyager_ 's crew accepted her authority in the matter, because she is the captain, and because Starfleet officers share common values and swear the same oath. You knew why she was showing mercy." 

Annika stared so blankly, for so long, that Picard wondered if she was shutting down. She stood up suddenly. "Will we be meeting at our scheduled time tomorrow?"

"Yes. Although I may ask you to come to see me here rather than my office. I'll let you know." Deanna watched Annika turn and leave, sighed, and turned to Picard, gripping his hand more tightly now.

"How are you?" Picard murmured. "Empathy coming back?"

"It's there, but still not what it should be. I already know from previous conversation that she is holding grudges -- in the instance she described, she was terrified and not behaving rationally, and she knows it. But like so many people she refuses to acknowledge that her thinking could be so influenced by her emotions."

Picard studied her. "Why don't you go get into bed, and I'll call Mendez. Have him question Jacoby and report back to me. I'll be in momentarily."

For a moment, he thought she would say something, but instead she did as he asked, with only a brief look of contemplation. He contacted the second officer and provided the information he had, asked Mendez to talk to Greenman then question Jacoby, and after severing contact he replicated some of the massage oil Deanna favored.

He found her lounging on the bed, and at the sight of the oil in his hand, she smiled and pulled off her robe. He'd expected her to be naked, so was unsurprised by her lack of undergarments. She sat cross-legged in the center of the bed, braiding her hair.

He took a moment to admire her -- she was all muscle now, as her days included regular exercise as well as teaching mok'bara, teaching the girls the dance steps for the routine they were learning for the Festival of the Moons, and joining cadets in various activities and drills. She tied off her braid and rolled onto her stomach, crossing her arms under her chin. 

"Would Madam care for anything else, before we begin?"

"Mmm, no, Madam would like her massage now, please."

He started with her feet, worked slowly up each leg, and had his thumbs pressed into pressure points on either side of her lower spine when Mendez hailed him. Rather than have a conversation over the comm system, Picard decided to speak to the officer in question in person.

Deanna watched him through her drooping eyelids as he put on a uniform. He tucked the blanket over her, smoothing it along her back, kissing the back of her neck. "I'll be back before you know it."

"Better be." Smiling, she pulled down a pillow, rolled on her side, and curled up for a nap.

Mendez had called Jacoby into the briefing room just off the bridge, and when Picard strode in the ensign flinched -- just a slight movement, but noted. Picard seated himself to the left of Mendez, across from the ensign.

"Mr. Jacoby said that Ms. Hansen was the aggressor," Mendez said.

Somehow, Picard had not expected blaming the victim. He stared at the young man, trying to gauge his mood. "I see. Then you also claim that Lieutenant Greenman is lying. She did not see you holding Ms. Hansen's arm as she attempted to get away from you."

Had Mendez not mentioned Greenman's report? Jacoby blinked, swallowed, stared, and finally said, "The lieutenant was not...."

"I suppose you then expect me to believe that you were attempting to detain Ms. Hansen, prior to filing a complaint or pressing charges, which leads to the question of why that was not done."

Jacoby's head came up -- that chagrin was what Picard had expected in the beginning. "Sir, I don't.... I would like to apologize, sir."

Picard raised an eyebrow, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms. "I can think of a number of reasons for an apology. Perhaps you should be more specific."

Jacoby gaped for a moment. "Sir. I was only -- only trying to be friendly. She's new on board, she seemed interested in... I thought she was interested in me, in the same way."

"I fail to see how interest, or even agreement, gives anyone the right to attempt to force someone when it's clear they do not want to, or changed their mind." He studied the ensign, from the mop of short disheveled brown hair to the fidgeting, knobby fingers. He thought about the Academy and the recent classes of cadets they'd seen passing through their crew roster as they accumulated the minimum of field experience required for graduation. Some of the issues cropping up had demonstrated that the Academy had somehow changed the screening of applicants; this was not the first issue of its kind to occur, unfortunately. 

"Mr. Mendez," Picard intoned, knowing he would understand.

"Sir, I think probation would be appropriate."

"But -- " The ensign subsided, obviously not wanting to push his luck. Crestfallen, he now seemed to have lost hope.

"I agree. Make it so."

"Sir, I'm sorry that I was disrespectful of another member of the crew."

Picard turned in a full circle, pausing in his haste to put this issue aside and leave. "I think an apology to the offended party is in order, Mr. Jacoby. I expect you will, as I expect of all Starfleet officers aboard, adhere to a higher standard of conduct than a first year cadet on holiday."

As he turned again to go, he heard a soft grunt -- a stifled reaction of some kind. It was entirely predictable that it was likely a comment on hypocrisy. By this time, he and Deanna had heard it all, from all manner of Starfleet personnel. But it didn't keep him from leaving without a word, heading for the lift, leaving the cadet and his inconsequential opinion behind.

On deck two, he visited the counselor's office, finding Ben in the middle of something but not with a client. "A request, if you would," he said. 

"Another cadet?"

"Cadet Jacoby. You can expect him to minimize and deny -- he had to understand that we had a report from a witness before he would admit to trying to coerce Ms. Hansen."

Ben's frown had a little anger to it. "I'll talk to him after I read his file. Is he angry?"

"Not obviously so. He has a case of insincerity."

"Okay. I have a couple open appointments later today -- I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks, Ben."

Picard left Davidson to it and returned to his quarters. He found Deanna where he'd left her dozing; she half-opened an eye to peer at him as he tossed the jacket over the back of a chair. "All right?"

"Assuredly. I have a dozen pressure points to go -- or should I start over?"

A quiet chuckle got his attention. "Or move on to something more stimulating? You're wearing too many clothes."

His lopsided smile mirrored hers. "Do I feel better yet?"

"Much. I take it you were talking to Jacoby?"

"He'll be talking to Ben for a few weeks. We'll see how he does on probation. Dodge, deny and accuse until you can't do it any more...."

"Quiet arrogance," she said. She'd been working with the cadets in small groups; she would know the man. "Ben might be able to turn him around."

Picard nodded thoughtfully, remembering himself at twenty-two. Deanna didn't disappoint -- it was reassuring that she picked up on his thoughts with her usual accuracy. 

"Jacoby isn't you. He didn't have your Maman to send him letters to cajole him to be civilized."

"That doesn't mean we have to fail in giving him the chance."

"There's my rational captain -- not sounding like you want to throw him out an airlock any more." Deanna rolled over, sat up, let the blanket fall aside. Propping herself up with straight arms, she gave him a fine view of her breasts. "Are you going to come back to bed?"

Picard pulled off his shirt, then sat on the edge of the bed to pull off his boots, letting her roll over and reach around his waist to work on the fly of his pants. She changed directions abruptly, abandoning the pants and sliding her hands up his back as she sat up, brought her legs under herself and draped herself over his shoulders. Her arms crossing over his chest, she kissed him behind the ear and rested her chin on his shoulder.

"I needed a new uniform," he muttered. Her laugh vibrated against his back. "I would be the envy of Starfleet."

"I'm not so sure the rest of the fleet would be able to handle the overwhelming jealousy."

He grasped her hand, thumb gliding along her palm, and bore her weight on his shoulders, closing his eyes and humming to her. 

"Did you work on your opus while you were gone?" His habit of humming snippets of the long song, Ode to a Swan, that he kept adding to over the years had reminded her.

"Not really."

"Beverly said you were a hermit -- that even Tom worried about you, holed up in your quarters."

"Dee...."

She shifted again, to sit next to him, slipping her arm around his waist. "Tell me, already. This is what's behind your wanting to move on, isn't it?"

"I couldn't focus," he admitted finally. "It wasn't much of a mission, of course, just moving back in time and a few landing parties to find Janeway's crew. But I lost focus. It felt like... like the weeks I was recovering from the Borg. Like my body didn't belong to me. Tired. Hollow. It wasn't just that I missed you. It wasn't the same, any more."

"I think I know what you mean. I think we enjoy working with each other more than the work itself."

He let the initial shock of the statement sink in. "How is it that you know how to put words to -- " He glanced at her as he spoke, and the expression on her face completely distracted him from the rest of what he was about to tell her. It was an expression he never wanted to see on her face again -- the suffering in her eyes brought on such a tightness in his chest that he couldn't breathe.

"No," he gasped, pulling her into his arms. 

"It's not just you," she whispered. "There's more to come."

Closing his eyes, he held on and wanted more than anything to not hear it, even though he waited patiently for her to finish. He felt her inhale deeply, then her arms tightened around him as well.

"I got a message after you returned to the ship. It was from Kathryn. She sent it shortly after you spoke with her on Betazed, with a time delay to reach me before we reached the point that we left _Voyager_ to continue its journey."

"This is why you've been so closed off so often. You were trying to come to terms with it without inflicting it on me. Whatever it is. What was the message?"

"I have to go with them. With _Voyager_."

He was on his feet before he knew it -- she watched him wildly pace around the bedroom, which, spacious as it was, became entirely too confining. He waited until the burst of anger and fear, the urge to curse for an hour, to throw things, had all subsided, and returned to the bed to look down at her. But the anger surged again when he spoke.

"Two _fucking_ years! No!"

She didn't wince, though she didn't seem able to raise her gaze from the floor. "It will be three weeks, for you. Time travel."

"That doesn't matter! You can't! I can't do this any more -- I can't watch you suffer again, I can't -- "

"It's my choice to make!" Deanna leaped up and glared at him -- she even had her hands in fists. "Do you think that it was easy to make it? Do you think I want to go?"

"Why?" It stuck in his throat. He knew why. It had to be a matter of success -- of securing the future of the Federation, the same reason they had embarked on this crazy adventure in the first place. It was a matter of the future of their children, the one thing that would drive them to any means necessary. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that she would suffer miserably for the rest of her life if it were the only means of giving them a future. But was it really that, or had Janeway made the request for some other reason?

"This," she said, pointing. He followed with his eyes -- there was an isolinear module on the headboard, that he'd never seen before. "This is my marching orders. She didn't tell me anything about what wouldn't happen, if I refused. She didn't give any details at all, really. But you and I both know she wouldn't have requested it in the first place, if it weren't necessary, because she knows about the bond. She knows what happens to me, Jean-Luc. You left her here to witness it."

He laughed bitterly, and when she came to him she caressed his cheeks, wiping away his tears -- not that it mattered. "She's smarter than I am, about things."

"You mean than you were at her age. And only some things -- matters of the heart were not your concern, at that point, and you intended to keep it that way."

"Her age -- your age. You're the same age, the two of you."

Deanna smiled at him, indulging him. "You have socks older than Captain Janeway."

"I know you don't want to talk about my retiring. But it's not tolerable any longer to watch you recover, and then see you suffer again -- I cannot do this. And if it's true -- it feels true, that it's not about the work any longer -- there are other things to do than repeatedly throw ourselves in harm's way. Other tasks to be done, at Command."

"Jean-Luc, we don't even need to discuss it -- you know I will follow you anywhere. If you asked me to start all over again, go through everything again, I would go with you without argument. As long as it's what you want. It's never been about anything but seeing you happy -- making me happy has been part of that, I know. I've been so happy, with you. Surely you know that." Deanna looked down, smiling sadly. "But you made it clear that this mission has more to do with the safety of the Federation, and you still expect me or any officer aboard to adhere to the oath we all swore."

He returned to the bed and sat down, feeling drained and heavy. He found himself shaking his head -- pushing it away, still. Her hand found the back of his head, caressing down the back of his neck.

"Talk to me?"

Picard tried to glare at her, but had to look away again. His gaze landed on the shelves near the door, on the swan.

"You wanted to help Janeway." Deanna sat again, leaning slightly against him. "You went to the admirals. You started this. It ended up being a time loop -- the various messages at intervals are attempts to resolve the various disasters that cropped up along the way. I think we're almost through it. That was the last message. I have to finish it."

"How do we know it was a matter of the Federation's safety? She could be making a request based in personal motivations."

"Did you ask that question when you spoke to her before this all started?"

"Deanna, have you ever known me to be that gullible?"

She crossed her arms, raised an eyebrow, and glared, leaning away from him. "You're accusing me of it."

"I can't just accept this -- you want me to go along with this blindly! I cannot accept sending you away for two years when I know how painful that will be for you!"

"I can tell you're too emotional about it to understand what I'm saying." Standing up, she headed out of the bedroom. "I'm going to do some yoga. You should meditate until you're calmer."

Picard glared at the floor and found he'd started shaking his head again. Perhaps she was right about meditating.


	22. Chapter 22

Janeway didn't have to herd the kids home -- they ran ahead of her, forcing her into a fast walk down the corridors. As they reached the door to their quarters Cordelia was the first through, hair clip long gone and hair flying wildly. Jean-Pierre and Amy were just steps behind. 

Yves walked with Janeway into the living room to find Deanna holding all three of the younger children in her arms -- they made quite an impressive pile of people on the couch. At least Yves was smiling now. He'd been worried all the way from school.

"You're talking to us again," he said. Deanna smiled at her son and nodded.

"He means I'm empathic again -- almost twenty-four hours of rest helped a great deal. I'll be back on duty in the morning. How are you?"

"Doing fine -- I took a tour of my ship today, to see the repairs so far. We're moving it now to be grounded for the next phase of repair. The EPS systems have been overhauled, the gel packs and supporting infrastructure repaired -- it helps that you've magically had a few holds full of parts for an Intrepid class starship."

Deanna's smile deepened. "Obviously someone had time to prepare for this adventure."

After the usual prodding to get the kids off to do homework, Deanna rose to give Yves a half-hug and a kiss on the forehead, and all four were off to their rooms, at least for the moment. She wore a pale green house dress instead of a robe or uniform, but her hair was down around her face.

"How are you?" Janeway asked, keeping her voice low. 

"Back to normal. Perhaps a little tired, but not in a way that these things usually make me feel." She lost the smile. "Jean-Luc and I had a difficult conversation."

Janeway frowned, tried to refrain from being intrusive, but Deanna really was back to normal. She knew Janeway was concerned, judging from her sharp glance.

"It wasn't an argument. I was asking him to accept something he doesn't want. I'm waiting for him to calm down so we can discuss it rationally."

"Where is he?"

Her eyes went distant for a moment. "I think he's on deck eleven. Feeling... excited? I have been trying to ignore him. He was obviously wanting privacy, so I've tried to give him that. But why -- the labs?" Deanna spun and hurried into the bedroom, returning almost at once. 

"What's wrong?" Janeway asked. From the look on Deanna's face, something was going on.

"Yves," she called urgently. 

The boy came out at a run, clearly afraid, looking anxiously at their faces. "Maman?"

"I need to step out for a bit -- watch your siblings, call me if you need to. It's nothing to be afraid of. Just ship business. All right?"

Yves relaxed and nodded. "We'll be all right."

Janeway assumed this meant she was going too, and followed Deanna to the lift. "What is it?"

"I have a guess, at this point. We'll see what he's found soon enough."

Deck eleven was all laboratories and associated equipment, with stellar cartography at the forward side. Deanna led her to the doors of astrometrics, hesitated just outside, and strode forward to trigger the doors. Janeway almost ran into her when she stopped in her tracks to stare. 

Jean-Luc paused in his rapid keystrokes on the main console, looked over his shoulder, and grinned -- it was Yves' grin, a little boy grin, and Janeway found herself exchanging a similar one with Deanna. He wasn't in uniform, so she doubted this was work related.

"What are you up to?" Deanna asked, on the verge of laughter. 

"I need to show you something." He turned and held up an isolinear module. "This is not what you think it is."

Deanna lost some of her amusement. "It isn't an isolinear module?"

"I took it to Lieutenant Carlis. He did some testing and found that the message from Kathryn wasn't all -- there was rather more to it, and when he dissected the file he found additional data, a short video and an image. I brought it here to play it."

Deanna crossed her arms. "So let's see it."

Jean-Luc glanced apologetically at Janeway. "First, let me disclaim a bit -- if this weren't so important I would want to wait a bit. But I think you should see this." He tapped a few controls, and pointed at a viewscreen on the console, where an image in silver on a black background appeared -- a stylized image of a swan and fish circling each other inside a thin braid of gold lines. 

Janeway followed Deanna to stand with him and look at it. "I know what this is," Janeway exclaimed. She looked from Jean-Luc to Deanna. "Yves has been working on this for weeks. He had me replicate this design as a pendant just a day ago, for you, Deanna. It was supposed to be a surprise. Why are you showing us this?"

Jean-Luc's grin returned in spades. "This was part of the data with the message, Dee. Carlis took apart the code enough to find embedded time stamps, to verify when the files were created. The message you received from Kathryn was dated as you expected, but the video and the image were created twenty four years from now."

Now Deanna was staring at him, instead of the image. Janeway wasn't at all certain what the image meant, but it was clear the two of them had gotten whatever message it was supposed to impart. Neither looked at all confused by this.

"The video?" Janeway prompted, hoping it would make more sense.

Jean-Luc tapped a few times, and on the massive wall in front of and above them, a familiar face appeared -- familiar, recognizable as Yves, but not quite the same as his younger self. More like his father. Now it was Janeway's turn to join Deanna in gaping, completely taken aback.

"Hello, Papa. Maman. I understand how shocking this will be, and how angry you may be at the end of this. But I also know that this is necessary. If I let you do as Kathryn asks in her message, the one to which I am attaching this, you will suffer, and the future will suffer, since the end result will be retirement for both of you. And there are things that Starfleet needs you to do after _Voyager_ returns home. There are advances to be made, that will keep the K'Korll at bay and eventually completely render them harmless, and you will be instrumental in events that lead to those. You need to know that I'm involving myself not because I am selfish enough to intervene for personal reasons, but because someone has to keep the Federation on track. I think I was allowed to do it because other officers who were considered but not yet known to you would have contaminated the timeline, by giving you foreknowledge of their role in it -- another thing we are trying to avoid. You need to meet them in their own time, not prematurely."

Yves paused, looking down and to the right, exposing the collar of his uniform, and Janeway saw -- four pips. When his eyes came up he smiled again, this time with a little regret. "You can let Kathryn and her ship go, when repairs are done. I will be there, in a ship of a design that will be chronologically and regionally appropriate, to move them through time and space to where they need to be. You told me once, Papa, that you were not able to determine what was necessary and what was not -- that you had to be careful and not cause too much damage to the timeline. That there was no way to determine what would damage it too much, and that you weren't even certain you weren't already changing things beyond repair. I'm at a place now where I can tell, and I can prevent damage. I already have -- one of the messages Maman received was from me, fabricated to appear as if it was from you. One of the messages Papa received from Kathryn was actually from me. I'm trying to help all of you escape a series of time loops by preventing circumstances that caused them. We can look at time differently now. If Tom had died, Data would have been a captain -- he wouldn't have gone on to do research that led to my being able to help you this way. If Maman goes with Kathryn, it damages her, and you -- if she does not, it keeps _Voyager_ from returning on time, when they cannot communicate with the Xens'mik, the telepaths that warned you away to prevent all of you from assimilation and destruction. They destroy those unable to communicate with them. Another semi-xenophobic species, courtesy of the Randra Alliance. They become one of the many species attempting to destroy _Voyager_ instead of helping defend it."

When Yves paused, Janeway sighed. "It sounds like we couldn't find Kes. Certainly she could -- "

"I know you don't like temporal issues," Yves went on. "I know you are questioning, for example, how this is occuring if Tom died. One of the theories talked about in classes on temporal physics used to be that parallel universes form with every adjustment -- it's a good enough theory for now. It may be that Kathryn is questioning whether or not Kes will be with her again. That's not one of the major factors in this, since Kes' presence, or her absence, is not going to determine the outcome of this. From the time you view this, to the time _Voyager_ arrives in the Alpha Quadrant, what you need to do should be what you judge is best to do in the circumstance at hand. No need to worry about the timeline. If you go on as usual, avoiding contact with other species in the area as much as possible, that will be more than adequate to the task."

While Yves spoke, Janeway kept an eye on his parents as well. Deanna had drifted over to lean on her husband while they stared up at the older version of their son.

"That's all I have for you on that subject -- I suppose I could take advantage and give you tips on how to handle my anxious younger self, but you need no real help from me with that. Well... you might want to turn up the generator, just a bit more. Or move my bed into a cargo hold, maybe on deck twenty two." He flashed a grin, and the video ended.

The three of them stood for a long moment, digesting the message. Then Deanna turned her head to look at Jean-Luc. "I suppose we have your stubborn refusal to make assumptions to thank for this. Of course he knew you would look at it more closely -- denial, determination and bending the universe to your will are fairly typical of you, in situations that feel hopeless."

"What does the image of the swan and fish mean?" Janeway asked. 

Both of them looked at her. Jean-Luc sighed, rolled his eyes, and reached for the isolinear module sticking out of the console. Deanna turned around to answer. "We have been accused of being complicated, many times. Part of that is the habit we've had of using metaphors -- the swan is me."

"So why a fish? Are you a good swimmer, Jean-Luc?"

"There's that old saying, about a fish and a bird falling in love. Originally cautionary and a warning to couples who are radically different, I'm sure, but the differences between us didn't deter us," Jean-Luc said.

"I suppose avian and piscine couples live in Starfleet?"

Deanna's smile turned mischievous as she watched her husband try not to react to it. "It's not so applicable any more. We don't have so many differences as we once had."

"Are we all right, then?"

His question, Janeway realized, was related to the difference of opinion Deanna had mentioned, not metaphors. Deanna nodded and held out a hand. He took it, the action forcing him to take a step, and along the inside of his arm there were gold and purple letters in a language Janeway didn't recognize. And Deanna had them, too.

"What -- " She caught herself, although at this point she had asked many questions and never been refused an answer so many times. 

"Kathryn?" Jean-Luc responded.

"I don't recognize the lettering on your arm."

"It's Betazoid. A very old dialect," Deanna said. "Without them, the children would be disinherited by the Fifth House. One of those things that made the bird and fish metaphor more appropriate, before."

"The Fifth House of Betazed? You're one of those Betazoids?" Janeway had heard of "those Betazoids" before, from a classmate at the Academy.

Deanna laughed -- she cast a glance at Jean-Luc. "So is he."

"Only by association," he exclaimed. "Only on Betazed."

"The tattoos are ceremonial. House marriages require them."

"Amy's boasting about being a Betazoid princess isn't childish hyperbole, then?" Janeway asked. 

"It's her grandmother who feeds her such ideas," Jean-Luc grumbled. "There's no such thing as a Betazoid princess."

Tugging her husband along, Deanna headed for the door. "Come along, Mr. Troi."

"Stop that. I'll pull rank if I have to," he warned, allowing himself to be dragged as far as the corridor. He put an arm across Deanna's shoulders, proving it wasn't so much an issue as all that.

Janeway followed them to the lift, thinking about the message. "You don't seem too shocked about receiving a message from an adult version of your son."

"We saw a younger version of him before he was born," Deanna said as they entered the lift. "For a similar reason -- only that time it involved time-traveling aliens we'd never seen before, trying to prevent Jean-Luc's intervention in some future conflict. Yves saved his life."

"I hope you write your memoirs some day," Janeway said, shaking her head. "The other thing -- this message you received from me, it asked you to leave the _Enterprise_ and go with us? I don't see that -- why would I ask you to do it knowing how painful it would be for you?"

Deanna gave Jean-Luc a look that clearly said 'I told you so' -- he crossed his arms and gave her one in return. They were both trying to look stern, but both utterly failing -- Jean-Luc broke first, fighting the smile in spite of it. Janeway laughed at them, and kept laughing when Deanna started to do so as well, as they headed back to the lift.

The Picard quarters were quieter than Janeway expected. But the minute they came in, Yves charged out to greet them, grinning when he saw his father. "Papa, I'm done with my homework."

"It's past time for dinner. Why don't you set the table?" Deanna asked, gesturing at the replicator. "Are you staying for dinner, Kathryn?"

"No, I have a date. I'll see you tomorrow." Janeway smiled at Yves, nodded to Jean-Luc, and left them to their meal.

After swinging through quarters to change out of the uniform, Janeway headed for Ten Forward. She found that the place was now packed predominately with her own crew, and she ended up greeting people -- eventually she made it to the table for two in front of the viewport, in the far left corner of the room. Chakotay watched her final approach with a smile. 

"Sorry, I had a few friends to say hello to," she said as she slid into the waiting chair. "You already ordered a drink for me?"

"The one you enjoyed so much the other day, yes. I didn't know what to call it but Guinan remembered. How is Deanna?"

"She seemed a little tired, but otherwise back to normal." Janeway glanced out the viewport -- now _Venture_ was idling parallel to _Enterprise_ alone. Her ship must be on the surface of the planet below them, somewhere beneath the gossamer clouds sparsely covering the mottled green and gray sphere. 

"Kathryn?"

Janeway smiled apologetically as she turned back to him. "Sorry. I was just thinking about...."

He waited, finally taking a guess. "The ship? The future?"

She sighed. "Every time I think I have an idea of what comes next, something happens. And today, when I was on _Voyager_ for another look at the repairs, I couldn't stop thinking about the past. It was so different -- everything's clean, and so many of the damaged areas were like new. And it felt different -- I wanted to feel the way it did before. I wanted it to feel like home, like it was in our first few years in the Delta Quadrant, before it became impossible to repair things to spec and we couldn't seem to find time to recover between confrontations. Before I couldn't -- couldn't hope any more -- "

Suddenly she had to grab for the napkin, dislodging the place setting. Taking a deep breath, she managed to pull her emotional response back before the few tears became a downpour. "Sorry," she whispered, dropping the slightly-dampened napkin in her lap. 

"I waited for you to get here to order food," he said, and when she raised her eyes she almost started to cry again to see the understanding and love in his eyes.

"I think I'd like something light. A salad."

"I forgot the croutons." His smile grew when she chuckled at the reminder of better times. 

They made it through the meal, watching and occasionally commenting on some of their crew -- it was obvious just looking around Ten Forward that a few had managed in a very short time to find companionship on board the _Enterprise_ , something that concerned them somewhat, as it would be harder with fewer people to manage yet neither of them wanted to demand that people stay aboard.

"I'm sure Neelix isn't among them," she commented as they left Ten Forward intending to get dessert back in her quarters. "He's talking to Malia. She's one of the civilian spouses aboard, also in charge of the school and sometimes social functions."

"Does that mean something, I wonder? Perhaps they're planning a talent night?"

It almost stopped her in her tracks. "That actually might be worth it, come to think of it."

"Uh oh," Chakotay said, almost serious. "What are you up to?"

"I could dare Jean-Luc -- I'll reprise my ballet performance if he steps up to perform."

Chakotay grinned, but shook his head. "I doubt that'll work."

"I think it might."

"What's he going to do?"

"Yves talked about him teaching them how to play his flute. It sounds like he has a musical inclination."

When they reached her quarters -- theirs, she supposed, smiling at the thought -- he went to the replicator. "Trust me?"

"Absolutely."

Cherry pie never tasted so good. She was four bites in when she noticed his solemn expression. Setting aside the plate, she waited for him to notice her waiting, and when he did he sighed.

"I hope Deanna starts to work with you again soon. It doesn't bode well for the next couple of years if going to the bridge gives you flashbacks."

She grinned. "I think we might not have to suffer so much over those couple of years. Computer, access the logs in astrometrics. Is the video that was shown at sixteen hundred fifty-two hours available for playback?"

"Affirmative."

She asked for audio only, and Yves' adult voice filled the room -- Chakotay had an expression of amazed skepticism at the end. "Papa?"

"It's a thirty-two-year-old Yves, sending a message to his parents."

Chakotay's slow blink and stunned expression lasted a minute. "Well -- I guess that's what we did wrong. If we'd had a son to come up with a reason to travel back in time to get us out of trouble, we wouldn't be here."

Kathryn groaned, closing her eyes, putting her palms to her forehead. "Not what I was trying to accomplish here."

"So we're going to be getting more help, from the kid you've been babysitting?"

"When you put it that way.... But you can't say we won't need it. And nothing says he'll have an easy time of it either."

"Are we going down to the planet tomorrow to see how she looks from the outside, while they're ripping the hull off and pulling apart the engines?"

"Will you come with me?" she asked.

"Sounds like a date."

"Does it bother you that our dates are weird and sometimes work-related?"

He laughed, while reaching for his pie. "Are you kidding? I'd have fallen for someone other than a starship captain, if it did."

"You must have better luck choosing who you fall for than I do," she exclaimed, almost laughing at him. "What else are you expecting to be different?"

Chakotay actually thought about it, instead of continuing along the conversation she'd assumed to be mostly in jest. One more example of what would change, she supposed. Some of the things said in amusement may be taken seriously -- because, of course, humor had been an avenue of escape, all these years, whenever a comment slipped out that could have led to more serious confessions. She closed her eyes against the prickle of tears.

"Kathryn," he murmured, and then his arms went around her. It was like leaning on a furnace, being held against his broad chest, and she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. He radiated comfort -- love.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I want to help you smile more." The words vibrated against her chest. "I want to hear you laugh."

"I want to stop wallowing in the past. I'll ask Deanna in the morning when our next appointment is."

His arms tightened. "Let's do something to distract us. Want to get a holodeck?"

The computer informed them one was available, by some miracle. Her crew had been monopolizing them -- fortunate that the _Enterprise_ had seven. They reserved it and changed -- her deep green pant suit was not appropriate for anything more athletic than a stroll -- and headed for deck six. 

"It's interesting, how our crew is adjusting to being on board without duty to keep them busy," Chakotay said, as they stepped out the door into the corridor. "A few are keeping Counselor Davidson pretty busy. Others are contemplating initiating counseling, and quite a number of them have taken up sleeping and eating as if it's a new career."

"Annika met with me for lunch today. She's not terribly forthcoming but I think she's actually investing a lot of energy into what she's doing, not just going through the motions."

As if it had been planned that way, the Picards' door opened as they reached it, and the parade started -- Janeway and Chakotay halted when the twins flew into the corridor at a run. Their costumes were startling. Cordie looked like a little harem girl, with flying gauzy shimmering silver veils floating around her from the top of her head to her toes. Pierre was in boots, tight pants, a long-sleeved shirt and a helmet.

Amy floated out next, in attire similar to her sister's, and Janeway had to revise her perspective -- so ballet wasn't what Amy had been doing all this while, though the spinning and dancing around on toes was similar. Their mother appeared next. Obviously, the adult costume was quite different than the child version. 

"Oh, my," Janeway exclaimed. Deanna smiled at them. 

"We're going to practice for the Festival of the Moons," she said, her right eyebrow rising. Janeway followed her gaze to Chakotay, and nudged him with her elbow. 

"That's quite a costume," he said, sidling closer to Janeway.

Jean-Luc appeared in the open door, tossing a robe over Deanna's shoulders. "You forgot this."

Deanna sighed, pulling the robe closed and half-turning to eye her husband.

"Just because you don't care -- "

"I know, Jean, I won't cause a disruption in the corridor. I forgot myself. I'm sorry, Chakotay."

Janeway grabbed Chakotay's arm. "We were just heading for the holodeck. Looks like we aren't the only ones."

"The men are going riding on the holodeck. The ladies have a dance practice to attend in the gym," Jean-Luc said. "Yves!"

Yves bounced out, dressed for riding like his father and brother with his helmet in hand, and grinned at Janeway. "Can they come?" He almost tipped over backward as Fidele charged out, bumping his legs and brushing past Picard. The dog bounded to a stop in front of Janeway for a head rub. 

"If they want to. Come on, Jean-Pierre's already holding the lift." Jean-Luc swung the crop in his hand and tapped Yves on the back, herding him along. Fidele leaped to heel and pranced alongside his boy.

"What do you think?" Janeway asked, looking Chakotay in the eye at last -- his shocked expression was a bit alarming.

"Not so good with horses."

"See you tomorrow, then," Jean-Luc said. "Enjoy your evening."

They let the family disappear into the lift before they started walking again. Janeway took Chakotay's hand. "She wouldn't wander around the ship naked."

"I'm sure that's true. There would be a completely different set of rumors among the crew."

"I think we make assumptions we know more about Betazoids than we do -- House Betazoids rarely make it to the Academy. It's a little different for them. The costume is traditional rather than the ones modified to not shock the tourists."

They entered the lift. "I've been to Betazed -- you're right. The costumes are different."

Janeway watched the movement of the lift, as the indicator flashed direction changes. They were out of the lift and almost at the door of the holodeck before he spoke again. 

"I guess we should decide where we're going?"

"How about a ski lodge in Colorado?"

Chakotay grinned. "You're going to teach me how to ski?"

"Maybe not today, now that I think about that." Janeway thought about Deanna, and the house in France. "How about... Indiana, in spring time?"

It surprised him, to the point that the grin vanished, shortly thereafter to be replaced by a subdued smile as they halted at the door to holodeck four. "Home," he murmured.

"One of them, yes," she said, as the doors sighed open. 

 

\--------------------------

After breakfast, Deanna left for the bridge and other appointments. Picard saw the still-suspiciously-behaving-well kids off to school on time and without needing to bribe or growl at any of them, and made his way to the bridge via sickbay. Mengis turned from an occupied biobed to greet him. 

"Something happen?" Picard asked, noticing that the occupant of the bed was one of Janeway's crew.

"Our guests have been participating in some of our martial arts classes. The lieutenant here got in the way of deLio's fist with a bit too much commitment."

"Ah. I'd like to speak with you if you have a moment."

"Lieutenant Soares is quite up to the task of addressing a black eye, I think." Mengis preceded him into his office, and once they were seated, smiled across the desk at him. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I was curious as to how Deanna is doing."

The doctor's smile faded. "In what respect? She's been cleared for duty."

"Should she be treating trauma?"

Mengis nodded thoughtfully. "I questioned that with her directly. She thought she would be ready, in another day or so. I think this bodes well -- if she were denying her need for more recovery time and being defensive, I would be less reassured. Do you have a reason to doubt it?"

"I suppose not. I intend to discuss it with her, but wanted to have your observations before I do."

Mengis tilted his head, seemed to be thinking about something.

"Greg?"

"I'm supposing this is not a formal query?"

"It's not. But working with Janeway isn't in her job description, either."

Mengis gave him a tight smile. "Neither is working with the random officers Command throws at her and orders her to heal. Are you building a case for confronting the hypocrites at Command?"

"They need to slow down the flow of patients. I'm getting tired of watching her not quite recover between treatment sessions."

"I worry about her, too. She needs to function in her actual job, after all, for her own mental health. She's had twenty-five patients in as many months -- it's not allowed enough recovery time between sessions, when the average course of treatment has been a week of treatment. They come with one incident on their list and turn out to have much more trauma than they thought they did, thanks to the Dominion War." Mengis nodded. "I can collect the bioscans and notes I've made of her condition following sessions from the past couple of years to help you prove that it's a problem."

"Thanks. I'll go talk to her."

It turned out to be more complicated than he expected. On his way to the bridge he thought about her, and discovered connecting with her was not so easy as he thought it would be. He could tell she was close, but not how she felt. Suddenly fearful of what it meant, he left the lift and barely noticed the bridge crew on his way to the ready room.

"Computer, location of Commander Troi?"

"Commander Troi is not aboard the _Enterprise._ "

He sat and brought up the viewscreen on his desk. "Computer, show me transporter logs for this morning."

The logs showed multiple departures for the planet's surface, names he recognized as ops and engineering, with a few from sciences -- away teams to do a cursory planetary survey while they were at it, as experience for the cadets. And then there they were -- Janeway and Troi. 

He exhaled slowly, and only then realized how tense he'd been. Afraid. He sighed, leaning back in the chair, shaking his head at himself.

He returned to the bridge, glanced at Edison, nodded, and moved along to the lift. In the corridor on the way to the transporter room, he met Natalia going the other direction with five of the cadets at a jog. All of them came to attention. He smiled, nodded, but something about Nat's expression made him stop. 

"Lieutenant, good morning," he said.

"Sir."

"Walk with me."

She glanced at the cadets. "Go ahead, I'll catch up with you at the gym."

The five jogged onward, and Natalia turned to fall in step. He waited until they were outside the door of transporter room two to stop.

"You have a concern?"

"It may not reach the threshold of a problem, but it's getting closer," she said. "I'm getting a lot of pushback from Jacoby."

"He would do that, since you were a witness to the transgression he didn't want to admit to. Insubordination?"

"Not yet. I think he'll get there soon. He's really angry. I'm seeing some distancing on the parts of the other cadets, especially the female ones."

"I think he needs to check in with the first officer. I'll make sure she gets on that today. Thank you for bringing it to my attention."

Natalia smiled. "See you later, sir."

After she vanished around the curve of the corridor, Picard asked the computer for the location of Jacoby. That he was in Ten Forward tipped the balance -- he changed course, headed for deck ten and a morning cup of tea. On the way, in the lift, he asked and the computer told him that Jacoby was on a split shift -- afternoons in Engineering and evenings in Security, at the moment.

Breakfast was well attended before the start of a shift, but it was about half an hour into Alpha shift so the crowd had thinned to six or seven people. Jacoby was sitting near a viewport with another cadet, both in the gray uniforms with red stripes down the sleeve. On the other side of the room, Annika Hansen was pouring coffee for several lieutenants from sciences, and behind her at the bar, Guinan was wiping down counters. 

He went to the counter and Guinan immediately gathered a tea pot and began the process. "I haven't seen you here this early in a long time," she said, smiling at him. 

Picard let his eyes drift left, giving her a tight smile in return. She took the hint -- even glanced over his shoulder at Annika. "They've been here a while," she murmured. "The one looks at her often."

"She didn't tell you what happened?" He watched her pour hot water over the tea leaves and drop the lid in place. Steeping was now in progress.

"I know something did. It has something to do with Jacoby, then?"

The click of heels warned him, and Hansen appeared on his left, putting empty cups on the counter. She glanced at him, but not in a way that indicated anger. 

"How are you today, Ms. Hansen?"

"I am fine." An automatic answer. Her face betrayed her anxiety, and she couldn't suppress the nervous glance in Jacoby's direction.

"He's been here all morning? Looking at you often, with anger?"

"Yes."

"Has he apologized?"

Annika shook her head.

"He's here to make you feel uncomfortable. He's on probation and knows better. He is being vindictive and not taking responsibility."

The slight tension in Guinan's face, around the lips, gave away anger -- she turned a smile on Annika. "He's not going to do anything to you here."

"I do not understand why he would wish to make me uncomfortable."

Picard glanced at Guinan again, but she waited expectantly. He almost looked at Jacoby, but the cadet's reaction to this was inconsequential at this point. "He was caught in an act that he knows is inappropriate. He doesn't want to admit he let his baser emotions get the better of him, and doesn't want to take responsibility for the mistake. I instructed him to apologize and he hasn't done so. He'll have until we reach a starbase to get his head on straight, or I'll be recommending dismissal from Starfleet."

"He needs help to understand, then," Annika said. "As I do."

Picard thanked his wife silently, again, for the many lessons in parenting and negotiating such situations. "You aren't a cadet, nor are you here to prove yourself as the final stage of graduating from the Academy. It's assumed that cadets at this stage only need polish, not remedial lessons in respectful behavior. We'll give him time to reach an understanding with himself, take steps to make amends, and if he can't manage to do that, perhaps giving him a pip and a uniform is a bad idea. Being unable to control oneself in such a basic way does not bode well for the future, as officers are frequently called upon to handle frustrating situations rationally -- belligerent aliens in diplomatic situations, for example."

Annika held her face carefully neutral, though the corner of her mouth twitched. "How do you see me, if not as a cadet?"

Guinan poured his tea, and curiosity sparked in her eyes. He ignored her. "More like a daughter of a friend, I'd say."

"Like Lora," Annika said. "You helped her decide what career she decided to pursue, she said."

"Or Kenny, or Lindy," Guinan put in quietly. 

"Or Natalia," Annika added. "She speaks of you in a way that indicates admiration."

"Does she?" 

Guinan snorted. "I'll just leave you the pot." She reached for the cups Annika had returned, taking them away to be recycled. Picard poured tea in the second teacup Guinan had left. Annika took the hint and sat on the stool next to him, picked up the cup, and sipped.

He sat quietly with her, sipping, and waited. The only other people left in the room were Jacoby and the other cadet. 

"You should go offer them a refill, or collect the dishes," he said quietly to Annika. "It is your job, after all."

She nodded and did so, despite the stiffness in her posture that said she really didn't want to. Today she wore a dark blue dress, a little more flowing and informal than previous attempts. When she returned with the used plates and mugs, Jacoby and his friend left the room without incident. She went around the bar to recycle them.

"Picard to Davidson. Do you have a moment?"

Ben did, so he gestured for Annika to come with him. She came back around the bar and followed him. "Where are we going?"

"I think you should meet someone."

As they reached the counselor's office, she glanced at the sign next to the door. "I understood I was to work with Commander Troi."

"Ben is involved in the matter with Jacoby. I think you should tell him first-hand what happened. Also, I think he would be an excellent resource for you on the occasions where the ship is in the middle of a mission and Deanna is unavailable."

When the door opened and he let Annika go in first, he caught a glimpse of Ben's face -- the surprise disappeared quickly. The counselor sat up straighter and smiled. 

"This is Counselor Davidson," Picard said. "Ben, this is Annika Hansen."

"Yes, we met at the party," Ben said, standing to reach across the desk. Annika shook his hand briefly, and they both sat down.

"As I was explaining to Ms. Hansen, I thought you should hear from her first hand what happened with Jacoby. I think it would be a good idea for her to feel comfortable with you as well, even though she's meeting regularly with Deanna."

"Of course. I'd be happy to help."

Picard left them there, and headed for the transporter room. He asked the computer for the time and found out he should hurry -- he was supposed to be somewhere to distract a Betazoid for a bit, to facilitate Janeway's surprise. And then he put that out of his mind, decided to go pick a fight with his first officer, because thinking about surprises and Janeway was too dangerous and would result in tipping her off and ruining the fun.


	23. Chapter 23

Janeway inhaled slowly, exhaled, counting. On the next breath she didn't need to count to keep her mind from wandering. She floated in the field she'd imagined -- the one near her mother's house in Indiana -- and watched the grass wave gently in the breeze.

Footsteps, crunching in the loose gravel-filled dirt, yanked her out of the meditative state she'd worked for nearly an hour to attain. Her eyes flew open to find Chakotay approached her flat rock along the ridge. She'd chosen the top of the ridge for the breeze, though it didn't smell green and alive with pollen as it should have -- this world had no creatures larger than mice, and the plants were all adapted to the arid environment they were in. Also, she had spent quite a while looking down at the bones of her ship. Shuttles had been pressed into service, using tractor beams to move hull plating out of the way, exposing the inner workings of nacelles. 

For a while, she'd been sitting with Deanna, letting her guide them through a meditation and helping her (she was certain telepathically) achieve a deeper state. She hadn't heard Deanna leave. Far below, she saw the Betazoid standing in the parched pale dirt near the starboard strut beneath the deflector dish, alone. Deanna appeared to be looking up at the underside of _Voyager_.

Chakotay reached her rock. He smiled that open, appreciative, warm smile she'd been seeing lately, and she moved to the right a few inches, unnecessarily, as an invitation. Which he took.

"Hello, there, handsome." She let her voice drop into an inviting, gravelly tone. It led to his arm across her shoulders. "I've been sitting here meditating. Deanna is holding off on the trauma work but she thought I needed to have a more intentional set of coping skills." Actually, it had been a specific request -- the process of teaching her to meditate, which she already knew how to do, had hopefully kept Deanna busy enough that the emotional disturbances of a variety of people as they received carefully-timed instructions wouldn't come to her attention and trigger suspicion.

"It's a nice view," he said, pointing with his chin at their ship. "Well -- look there."

Janeway followed his gaze, and saw the transporter effect as it vanished and left Picard standing in the open area in front of _Voyager_. He walked the fifty feet between him and his first officer, and then the two officers stood together, facing each other.

"You found a family, didn't you?" Chakotay said softly. 

It shocked her speechless. She turned to him and found him gazing at her fondly.

"You fit in -- their kids love you, want you to come along on family outings. Deanna isn't commander to you any more. She's always Deanna. You don't blink an eye at anything she does -- you're like...."

"Sisters?" Janeway thought about Phoebe, and while she'd thought of home and family so many times over the last few months, she hadn't put Deanna together with Phoebe in her head, but he was right. "If I think about it, yes. I didn't really think -- didn't realize how much I'd missed it, having a sister, or my mother. But you're right. And the kids -- "

"You're great with the kids." He glanced down at the ship again. "I'm glad you had the time with them. I think it healed you in ways that nothing else would have. Sickbay can only take us so far. Nothing heals us the way family can."

Janeway followed his gaze. Picard now stood with tightly-crossed arms yet looking remarkably relaxed with sloping shoulders and a tilt to the head, and Deanna had her hands on her hips, her elbows pointed backward. An argument in progress, but not one that put tension in them, just their usual bickering. And then here came Tom Glendenning, around the nearest landing strut, from somewhere aft -- the man practically bounced up to them, and put an arm around Deanna. Janeway watched the body language, expecting to see resistance, but Deanna reciprocated, putting an arm around Tom's waist and looking up at him. Jean-Luc's posture didn't change. Janeway couldn't see facial expression from this distance, but it was clear enough that the two knew Glendenning well enough to be not only relaxed but affectionate. 

She thought about Deanna, and her devoted husband who had attuned himself to her without apology or hesitation. About Jean-Luc Picard, out of uniform, slinging Miral Paris over his shoulder without fear of the mercurial child's reaction, and getting only giggles. 

"What?" Chakotay asked softly.

"Do you want children, Chakotay?"

She felt him turn to stone next to her, and his fingers tightened on her shoulder. It reversed itself slowly as they sat and she waited for a response. She didn't even expect a real answer, at this point.

"With you, yes."

Now she had to recover from tension -- so much for all the meditating she'd done. Then she leaned against him, resting her chin on his shoulder. 

"Should I be making out a request to add on to our quarters already?" he asked.

"No," she said, before engaging the rational part of her brain. "No -- I think we should get home first."

"Mmmmm...."

"I think we need to knock out a wall, though. Since they're already rearranging everything, it shouldn't take more than a minute or two. Unless you want to maintain your own quarters -- then a door would suffice."

Below them, another transporter arrival shimmered into existence. Crusher. The doctor glanced up at Janeway and quickly turned to head forward, to the other three officers -- had she tipped off Deanna with the lapse? The messages she had sent to everyone had asked them all to do specific things while pretending they were doing them for other reasons, to set aside any thoughts of Deanna or birthdays or surprises, so there would be no chance of her guessing that anything was going to happen. So far it appeared to have worked. But Deanna was good at not revealing her reactions to what she sensed, so the level of their success would be revealed shortly.

"Come on." Janeway stood, taking a deep breath, trying not to be so tense with excitement.

"Are we going into battle?" Chakotay had recognized the change in her -- that was bad. 

"No. Relax. Let's go down there. I want to find Tom's engineer and ask him a few questions."

Putting all her preperations carefully out of her mind, as she had had to do multiple times today already, Janeway walked down the hill and let the simple task of navigating a rocky hillside consume her attention, turning it into a kind of meditation all its own. Chakotay followed her.

Her comm badge chirped a warning, as expected, as they crossed the open flat expanse to where their friends stood watching them approach. Janeway quickened her pace, kept a relaxed smile in place, and focused on gripping Chakotay's hand in hers. 

As they came to a halt, another transport began behind them. Janeway nodded to Jean-Luc, reached in the pocket of the windbreaker she wore, and held a small box out to Deanna. "Happy birthday."

Suddenly, there were other presents -- Crusher and Glendenning had produced small wrapped packages of their own. Deanna stared at them, clearly caught off guard, and then multiple hammering footfalls preceded the arrival of the children, Malia, Guinan, Greenman, the other senior officers of the _Enterprise_ \-- Mengis and Davidson had stacks of folding chairs under each arm, Greenman brought a pile of wrapped presents, Mendez had brought a folding table, and within minutes they had a ring of chairs and a table set up in the shade provided by _Voyager_. 

Jean-Luc had to take Deanna by the shoulders to guide her into a chair. Seeing her continued speechlessness brought home exactly what had compelled Jean-Luc to enlist her, Janeway realized -- it was obvious that Deanna had not been surprised often in her life. Her wide-eyed shock wasn't momentary -- she smiled, but it was a tentative one. She looked from face to face and watched them pile presents on the table placed before her. Guinan carefully placed the cake next to them. Yves put a stack of plates next to the cake, and the twins handed up fistfuls of forks and a pile of napkins. Amy marched around and reached up to place a paper crown on her mother's hair, then walked around handing out pointed party hats to everyone else.

"How," Deanna managed finally, looking up at her husband. He pointed at Janeway. The dark Betazoid eyes appraised her anew, realization dawning and bringing a happy, affectionate smile of appreciation. She was almost about to say something, but one of the twins intervened.

"Open presents," Cordelia sang out cheerfully, pushing one of the smaller gifts into her mother's hand. And then Jean-Pierre picked another one -- the two of them were beside themselves with excitement trying to see her reaction to the gifts Janeway had helped them make. Yves darted around the table and held out his own small offering, glancing at Janeway with a joyful grin. 

Janeway held Chakotay's hand for most of the party; it just seemed appropriate. Deanna smiled and hugged and thanked repeatedly, accepting gifts, unwrapping them to find one small token of love after another. As uncomfortable as the officers present would be with that term, if put to words, it was nevertheless appropriate, Janeway thought. There were no candles to blow out, but Guinan prompted Deanna to cut the first slice of the chocolate cake. People absorbed themselves in conversation and cake after seeing that their gifts were appreciated, with a few exceptions. Cordelia had once again climbed into her father's lap despite being too big for that; Picard wrapped his arms around the little girl, and she attempted to reciprocate, one arm flung across his chest and her cheek on his shoulder. Mengis was standing off to the side of the party, observing. Off to the far left, deLio stood watchfully -- on security detail, Janeway realized. Not trusting the determination that there was nothing to fear on the planet's surface. That said something about what this crew had been through together. 

"Kathryn."

She turned from looking at deLio, found Deanna had approached and now stood in front of her -- how far had she drifted in thought if she hadn't noticed? She smiled, and Deanna did as well, though her black eyes held awareness and a sober reminder. 

"Thank you, for everything," she said, pulling Janeway into a tight hug.

Janeway blinked unexpected tears away before standing back to smile. "For disrupting your mission and imposing myself with all my trauma on you?"

"You know better," Deanna said softly. Her fingers went to the necklace -- Yves' gift, the swan and fish pendant, glittered against the black of her uniform. She moved on, turning to talk to Davidson.

Janeway turned to Chakotay and found him looking contemplative as he watched Picard gently encouraging Cordelia away from him, turning to Amy to accept a bite of birthday cake and smiling with her over the chocolate cake. Amy leaned against his knee, her plate of cake on his thigh while she poked it with her fork, leaning on him just like she was bellying up to the bar for a drink. Cordelia meanwhile ran to Tom and flung herself up -- her 'uncle' caught her and up she flew, into the air over his head, laughing with her arms spread like wings. 

Janeway nodded to herself, realizing it after the fact. That was what she'd been asked to do -- trust that when the time came, and _Voyager_ had to be flung back into the Delta Quadrant, they could make it back into the arms of the Federation without failing. More and more, she appreciated the way they had been letting her gradually see how it needed to work, instead of dumping all the information she needed on her initially and letting her sort everything out after being overwhelmed. 

She tilted her head back and looked up at the deflector dish, the underside of the saucer section, and a shuttle pod zooming low across the bow, a hull plate suspended below it on a tractor beam, and sighed. She hadn't felt at home on her own ship because the people weren't there yet, she realized. Because home, for Starfleet officers, always had to be people. 

"Come on, Chakotay. Let's go see our bridge."

He looked at her as if she'd just suggested taking off their clothes while they were there.

"It'll be all right, if we're together," she said, slipping her arm through his. 

It reassured him, somewhat. "You're sure about that?"

"There's this process, graduated exposure. It can help."

"Practicing therapy without a license?"

"I have a teacher. Come on, you can be today's coping mechanism."

\--------------------------------

The party had been a great success, Picard thought as he walked the corridor on deck five to the lift. So the impulse to have Janeway plan it had been a good choice. By the time the androids had arrived with Lora, and the second wave of cake, Deanna seemed so completely overcome -- she would never expect the next thing on his agenda.

"Captain," came the summons -- and not by comm badge. He did an about-face and waited for the cadet to catch up to him.

Jacoby - why not? Picard allowed himself a brief fantasy of tossing the man in an airlock before settling down to address whatever the too-young man had to say. The cadet looked determined, perhaps a little anxious. 

"Sir," Jacoby said firmly, as if bracing himself. He inhaled and came to attention. "I wanted to let you know that I apologized to Miss Hansen, and I take full responsibility for my actions."

"I see. Good."

A moment of silent appraisal shook the cadet's composure; he glanced down, off to the left, and resolutely swept his brown eyes back up to meet Picard's. "May I be dismissed, sir?"

"Carry on, Mr. Jacoby." Picard turned to head for the lift again without a backward glance. What had the cadet expected him to do? Cheer for the fact that Jacoby had done what he was supposed to do at last? 

Picard exited the lift on deck six and arrived at the open door to holodeck one, glanced at the rows of desks inside, and tried to remember what the training of the day was supposed to be. It appeared that all twenty-five cadets present were taking a test of some sort. Before he could do anything else, Deanna appeared in the door, stepping out into the corridor and tapping the console to close the doors. 

"Good afternoon," she said warmly. "We're working on essays in ethics. Is there something you needed to speak to me about, Captain?"

Her head turned, forestalling what he would have said -- Jacoby came from the lift, Picard noticed out of the corner of his eye, and he raised an eyebrow as the cadet approached.

"You're late, Mr. Jacoby," Deanna said, with a hint of disapproval. "You can get a padd from the replicator on the way in."

Jacoby tried, but the flash of disdain before he could settle his face into a less offensive expression did not escape Picard's notice. The cadet nodded and entered the holodeck.

"I know, Jean-Luc," Deanna said wearily. "I talked to Annika, Natalia, and Ben copied me on the report he sent to you. We can't -- "

" -- throw him out of Starfleet for being an ass."

"I suppose you were never an opinionated, repressed, swaggering young man with delusions of grandeur," she commented. She didn't have to put any inflection into the words to make them hit home; he'd been visiting the distant past often enough that the mere words were adequate reminder.

"I never tried to drag away women or sneer at superior officers." 

Deanna touched his elbow, and he let himself be guided away from the door. They strolled along the corridor for a moment. "Why did you come to find me?"

"I had a chat with Tom. He anticipates his last search team will be back within the hour. They didn't find everyone. Kes is still unaccounted for."

It troubled her -- the concern showed in her eyes. "Kathryn told me about Kes. She's a close friend -- I think the closest friend she has had since being in the Delta Quadrant. Warm, supportive, and outside the chain of command. The closest thing to a counselor she has."

"Yes. Which makes it likely she will go looking for Kes the minute we leave." He suppressed the smile. "You know us hopeless captains, always taking risks for our counselors."

It only earned him a flicker of a smile. Deanna sighed. "I'm resuming appointments with Kathryn tomorrow, if nothing precludes it. Like a search for Kes."

"One crisis at a time. Perhaps you need to go back in to supervise."

"Thank you for the update, as optional as it was." Now she was smiling wearily at him. 

"Nonsense. Everyone knows you're in charge and I'm just window dressing. I'll just be getting back to the bridge, now. With your permission, of course."

That won him a grin with a dimple. "Yes, you are quite the decorative accessory, to be sure."

Now they were both trying to subdue grins. "You can expect my birthday present to arrive at the end of the shift, by the way," he said, starting toward the lift, looking back at her. 

Her grin widened. "I thought something was missing."

"I'll leave you the appropriate change of clothing on the bed."

"Protective clothing, perhaps? Do I also need an away team?"

He chuckled, imagining a scenario involving her version of the evening instead of letting himself think about his plans. She made herself known telepathically, pulling back as he entered the lift and leaving him awash in the kind of warmth that would make riding the lift with other personnel embarrassing. Fortunately, he was alone long enough for it to abate, until the lift rerouted and picked up Kathryn on deck ten. 

"Well, hello again," he said as she came in. She still wore the amber pantsuit she'd had on at the party, sans the windbreaker, and her hair was tied back in a single ponytail -- a young look for her. 

"Did the party meet your expectations?" She had a self-satisfied look that said she believed so.

"Above and beyond. We shocked her -- she hasn't been surprised like that in some time. Thank you for helping." He paused -- but he knew if it were him, he would want to know at once. "I have an update for you. Tom heard from his last away team. There is but one of your crew unaccounted for, though the few who are returning may know where to start looking for her."

Janeway's eyes flared wide open, hope ablaze, only to falter and die at his last sentence. "Who?"

"Kes."

The resulting sadness confirmed Deanna's assessment of that relationship. Janeway sighed heavily, looking at the floor. She seemed on the brink of tears.

"I'm on my way to my briefing room, as Tom is bringing over the last couple of officers -- we're going to figure out what to do next, to find her."

Janeway came alive -- this was the intense starship captain he'd expected to find upon returning to the _Enterprise_ , her head up and her body snapping to attention as she focused on the issue at hand. Then she eyed him with a little suspicion. 

"Sorry," he said, still grinning. "I was expecting Captain Janeway a lot sooner than that, and wondering if she might be on a permanent vacation."

She laughed at it out loud, and continued when they exited the lift on the bridge, heading right to the briefing room. Edison watched them with an amused yet wary expression. "Let me know when Glendenning beams aboard," Picard told him as he followed Janeway through the door.

"I have a question for you," Janeway said after he went to the replicator to get them tea. He hesitated as he turned around with two cups in hand, raising an eyebrow. "Which of course you can refuse to answer. But it's been bothering me -- you told me before that you were stupid. I'm not certain what you meant by that. It can't mean that you are in any way unintelligent, or unsure of yourself."

Picard put the coffee in front of her, sat at the head of the table on her right, and placed his tea in front of him. "I had the impression that you had listened to a number of my old logs, possibly the ones related to the Borg? What else have you learned about me, prior to coming aboard?"

"Not a lot other than what one picks up from news networks, or general gossip among the ranks. Which is to say, almost nothing I would believe useful. I think an admiral brought you up in conversation once. My father had a positive opinion of you -- I suppose that's where I had gotten the idea you would never condone fraternization. He gave me the idea you were one of those principle-driven captains who held his ground."

"When you went to the Academy, what kind of future did you imagine for yourself?"

The question surprised her. "Oh -- all the usual things we imagine, at the start. I expected I would be a captain, of course, perhaps a science vessel. I thought that I might marry, at some point. I was engaged twice. I wasn't expecting the Delta Quadrant, not by a long shot. But I did imagine being a captain, exploring the galaxy, or at least a considerable chunk of it, before settling down at home with the family and putting on admiral's bars, to teach the next generations of Starfleet officers. I enjoy that aspect, mentoring young officers."

Picard nodded, thinking about how to pack his response into the minutes left to them before Tom showed up. "So, not the same things that I expected. If you were to go back in time, you... well. We would have nothing in common. I had absolutely no intention of marrying -- no thought of anything but Starfleet, even though later found I had an interest in archaeology, and an interest in history in general. But so far as people were concerned, I hadn't given a thought to long term relationships of any kind. I would have shocked you, I think. By the time you were born, I'd changed -- I wasn't a bar-brawling, arrogant lout any more, but I wasn't quite who I was when I was given the _Enterprise_. And I wasn't the same after the Borg... though it wasn't just assimilation that changed me."

"Deanna?" Janeway asked, clearly expecting it. She lost the affectionate smile quickly when he shook his head.

"She may have accelerated it, being the counselor she was. She made me think about things I was determined not to consider. But after the destruction of the 1701-D, after I was encouraged to consider promotions, alternate positions -- I think that marked the fourth attempt to get me to take on the Academy -- and then given the next incarnation of the _Enterprise_ , it came home to me that my life as I'd planned it was not so fulfilling, and my time on duty became a distraction from my time off rather than the other way around. I suppose, looking back at it, I was waiting for my counselor to rescue me as she had before -- I had all the symptoms of depression, and then some. Even Mr. Data recognized it. I didn't want to think about leaving Starfleet because I had nowhere to go -- my brother and nephew were dead. I was the last Picard, ironic as it was that I had left the family business and its future to my brother. I believed, firmly, that all I had was Starfleet and yet, the 'family' I'd had was gone as well -- Will had finally taken a promotion, Beverly left, and my friends -- the ones I had gone through the Academy with, the ones I remembered thinking would be friends forever -- the majority of them were gone as well. I didn't expect their departures, their absences, their deaths to affect me so profoundly, but I can look back and see that they did. They were in some cases retired and some of them were no longer what I considered friends. So many of them died in action. I never noticed the real impact of the losses, and thought of the promotions as a good thing -- I was proud of my officers getting what they deserved. But the cumulative effect was there. I was alone, and becoming more so all the time. Keeping busy only hid the problem from me, until I was so overwhelmed with depression that even I could see it, finally."

He paused, after watching her shocked expression turn serious and then become tinged with sympathy as he spoke. Edison interrupted with the brief announcement that Glendenning and two of Janeway's crew had just beamed aboard, which Picard acknowledged before continuing. 

"I recognized at last that I was going to die alone and that it wouldn't really matter -- I wouldn't matter, not like that idiotic, brash child I used to be thought I would. I would be just another name in a history book, dying to save some world or my crew, and in the end no one would have a clue about me -- about the person I was. All those years of imagining that I would accomplish such great things, that my name would go down in history, only to discover that I didn't care -- instead, I was missing my good friends, thinking about lost opportunities, wishing I had paid more attention to my mother's advice all those years ago. So yes, Kathryn, I was stupid. It took me far too many decades to grow up, and too many mistakes. I don't know how I was so fortunate that Deanna -- "

Unexpectedly, it brought up emotions he could usually control. In the moments he struggled to put it all away again, Janeway averted her eyes, giving him the impression she wanted to leave and give him privacy.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. Then the door opened, and here came Glendenning with two lieutenants that he introduced as Lang and Tassoni. They were in crisp new uniforms. Obviously Tom had let them clean up before bringing them over.

"So Rorqual, he told me that he found them in a city on this planet," Tom said, after getting himself the offered beverage and seating himself at Picard's left. "They recognized his uniform and came to him. Gone native. Trying to stay alive until their captain came back for them."

"It's good to see you both," Janeway said, smiling warmly at the two recovered officers -- on quite a different wavelength than Tom, at the moment. Picard glanced at Tom, who shrugged, and back at Janeway.

Lang and Tassoni were smiling at their captain -- Lang looked like she might be on the verge of tears. "Yes, Captain, but we -- I'm so sorry that we couldn't find Kes."

"What can you tell us about this planet you were on, where you were, that could help us search for her?"

Picard picked up his tea and leaned back to watch -- clearly there was a shift in Janeway's demeanor that suggested her leave was ending on her terms, not the doctor's. And she was demonstrating the wide variance in demeanor between commanding officers, when it came to crew. One would think she and these two lieutenants were quite close. He knew that it wasn't the case.

Another glance at Tom. The other captain sipped coffee and battled with a familiar amused grin, trying not to be his usual disruptive self while Janeway worked details out of her officers.

At the end of the lengthy series of questions about culture, costumes, and defenses they might have observed, after Janeway deduced there were no more useful details to be had, she excused the two with orders to be on leave until recalled. As the door closed behind them, Picard rose to get himself another cup of Earl Grey and also brought back a second cup of coffee for Janeway.

"Sounds like a mission for someone with anthropological survey, or intelligence, experience," Tom said. "If you want to avoid prime directive issues and lengthy diplomatic entanglements that delay the rest of the mission."

"And now you're going to suggest my first officer, because as you've always said -- "

" -- she'd make a fine undercover operative. Because she was, several times, as you likely recall."

Janeway was staring at the two of them as if she'd learned something so much more interesting to her than warp physics. 

"What?" Tom exclaimed, as petulantly defensive as one of the children. 

Janeway shook herself a little and smiled to herself. "So if we send someone undercover to find Kes you think it will be less intrusive and faster than simply going to the governmental entity in charge. I agree. It can become quite difficult at times to ascertain exactly who truly controls things -- it isn't always obvious."

"Have you any additional information about the planet or the species mentioned?" Picard asked.

"No. I can ask Neelix, but we went beyond the limits of space he's familiar with some time ago. It sounded as though this might be a commerce planet -- many species, a lot of chaos, and very little organized or regulated commerce going on. I think Tom's initial suggestion would be best. Deanna would make sense because she could detect Kes almost immediately, based on information she can get from Tuvok."

Picard turned back to Tom, but got nothing but a raised eyebrow for the trouble. "You should go with Deanna."

Tom, for once, did not dissemble, laugh, bluster or tease. He stared back at Picard, his blue eyes wide and appraising. 

"Tom?"

"Sorry," Tom said. "Just not used to having you offer up your wife for an away mission."

Picard winced. "You do realize my first officer's name happens to be Deanna?"

"Nice try -- you're heading for promotion or something. Getting too loose and informal in your old age."

"You can attempt to make yourself look impressively intuitive as you like, I already know you've talked to Beverly, who talks to Deanna, who's probably thinking about it because I have been." Picard waited a few seconds for the change in Tom's expression, the sly grin, before continuing. "Now, if we could focus -- "

The door opened, and Tom turned his head to smile at Deanna as she came to sit next to him. In turn, Deanna smiled across at Janeway, at Tom, and folded her hands on the table before her as she looked at Picard. He could tell there was more going on behind the professional facade she was presenting, but also knew it would wait.

"We have some work to do," Picard told her. 

"You can finish arguing with Tom. I'll just wait for orders," she said.

Picard gestured at her. "You see, she knows your name as well."

"Good God," Janeway exclaimed. "Are they always like this?"

Deanna put her hands over her eyes briefly. She let them drop to the table. "No, most of the time it's much worse."

Picard sighed, shook his head, and moved on. "The question of who to send with you is at hand."

"I see. How far away is this planet?"

"You should be able to get there in half a day, at warp six," Tom said. "Rorqual took a while longer than that thanks to search protocols."

"Lang said that their shuttle was confiscated shortly after they landed," Janeway said. "We should retrieve Federation technology, if possible, but the priority should be safety."

"If this is a commerce planet, it's probably been torn up and sold, so that could be more involved than we think if you decide to negotiate," Tom said. "But it should be a fairly straightforward matter, using scanners to identify and beam away our tech. Unless there are planetary shields."

"The _Enterprise_ will leave within the hour," Picard said. "The teams we have on the surface for repairs can rely on you for quarters?"

"You got it. We'll keep a light on for you." Tom turned to Deanna. "Want me to come with you, Dee?"

"You have a ship to occupy you, don't you?"

"Yeah, well, you might need backup, right? You might cause a few bar brawls, y'know."

Picard chuckled at the memory of the last time he'd seen Tom in a brawl. "I'll send deLio along. He's less likely to need protection."

Tom almost rose to it -- but the bluster died on his lips, and he stared at Picard with a subdued smile. Sentimental, he thought. "Give us a shout if you need backup," he said, rising. He touched Deanna's shoulder on the way by her. "Happy hunting."

"Thanks, Tom." Deanna watched him leave. "He's not up to his usual," she commented softly.

"Nostalgia, or possibly realizing he's going to miss you." She'd mentioned Beverly's revelation of Tom's retirement plans -- Picard would miss them both, he thought.

Deanna turned her head and gave him a look, her mouth twisting. She knew, but reversed the sentiment. "More likely he'll miss you. He's not had too many friends, you know."

The echo of his earlier conversation with Janeway struck home. He glanced at Janeway, seeing in her eyes the same realization. "I know."

Deanna sat back in her chair, now appraising both of them. He thought she might comment on the moods he'd been projecting earlier, or say something to Janeway to reassure her that they would find Kes. But she said nothing, simply waited for them to do something.

"I can't begin to tell you -- " Janeway faltered, clearly deep in thought. She rallied after a few minutes of contemplation. "It strikes me, over and over, just how much has been invested in recovering _Voyager_. I want to help. I need to do something -- I can't simply watch you risk your life in this, Deanna."

Picard hesitated as he opened his mouth to speak -- Deanna didn't move an inch, her expression didn't change, but she flooded him with affection and caution, and it took effort to not react overtly to it. He recognized belatedly that she had saved him from responding in kind to Janeway's affection, and left him wondering.

"You want to be on the away team?" Deanna said.

"Yes. I want to find Kes." Again, the difference -- the level of warm affection layered into what was clearly a starship captain determined to find a member of her crew. He'd invested great energy into similar efforts, but not always with affection -- he acted out of the loyalty that an officer had, to those with whom he served. The brotherhood of Starfleet. Janeway seemed to have folded her instinct for motherhood in with her dedication to her duty, while he had always and ever been just an officer, with occasional closer relationships with those select few with whom he had managed to find some depth of kinship.

"We should wait -- get to the planet and reassess the situation, before the final decision. Perhaps there is a way to isolate her life signs from the general population," Picard said, as he thought about the mission a few moments more. Ocampans were from a distant part of the Delta Quadrant, as he recalled. Surely the EMH had her biosigns on record. "If we were able to simply beam her aboard, as we want to do with the shuttle, we could be back within a day or so."

"And here I was, looking forward to an away mission," Janeway exclaimed, but the idea overjoyed her. "All right. I'm going to find Tuvok, and the EMH -- both of them will want an update on Kes."

Picard watched her leave. He thought about what Deanna might have had on her mind earlier, and it had the desired effect.

"You have a meeting on your schedule tomorrow, with Jacoby," she said.

He sighed heavily. If only she had been seriously considering something else when she'd arrived. "Yes. Part of the scheduled series of meetings with the cadets -- the likelihood of keeping it if we become entangled in a rescue mission is slim. You're going to suggest moving it, to now, while we're en route?"

"You say you're not a telepath."

"Or perhaps I merely have plenty of experience in watching the way your mind works."

She sighed, her smile subdued, as she looked down, hiding behind her eyelids. "You do, indeed. You've gotten better at surprising me."

"I was thinking about the way things have changed, earlier," he said. " About the more distant, less happy past when I was alone and suffering for it. Janeway reminded me of it many times over the past months. I hope it hasn't bothered you too much."

"I could tell, but it isn't too much to bear. Happily Yves does not have much range that he could sense it as well, today."

"Friends retiring, kids turning into empaths, thinking about moving home -- it's much more complicated than it used to be."

Looking at him again, Deanna regarded him with a pensive expression. "Are you yearning for those uncomplicated, lonely nights in your quarters listening to music and reading old books?"

Picard stared at her and considered, for once, what she must remember. "Are you yearning for the days of trying to convince me that my emotions are not as unimportant as I thought, and ignoring them completely is a ridiculous idea?"

She snorted. "Touche."

"Why, pray tell, do I need to meet with the cadet rather than simply cancelling the appointment if we are otherwise engaged? It can be rescheduled later."

"Natalia and I are unable to provide paternal feedback to nudge him out of the attitude."

Picard raised his eyebrows at her. "What if I don't feel particularly paternal?"

The first officer leveled a disbelieving stare at him. "Somehow you've begrudgingly started to parent our lost kitten. Certainly you can manage a wayward cadet."

He set aside the impulse to comment on the fallacy of thinking of a former Borg as a kitten. "I suppose the previous hundred or so wayward cadets gave me sufficient practice. After you get us on our way, notify the cadet I am waiting for him in my ready room."

"Yes, sir."

He spent the preceding minutes visiting the head, checking the last report on repairs on _Voyager_ , and noticing as he glanced out the viewport next to his desk that they were going into warp, leaving the planet and their sister ship behind. 

He was reviewing Jacoby's file when Deanna telepathically announced his arrival on the bridge. {He's a little awestruck,} she added, along with an image of the gawky young man hesitating at the top of the bridge, looking around. The cadets typically didn't make it to the bridge until they were to meet one-on-one with him. Most of them didn't react this way, however, having been on simulators or other ships. 

When he granted admittance, Jacoby came into the ready room slowly, took one of the two chairs only after Picard gestured for him to do so. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Jacoby," Picard began, trying to sound neutral, even minimally pleasant about it. 

"Good afternoon, sir."

"Your two months aboard so far have been educational, I trust?"

A flicker of anger in his face was quickly erased -- Jacoby nodded, tacking on a 'yes sir' as an afterthought. 

"Has your experience met your expectations?"

"It's an honor to serve aboard the _Enterprise_ , sir."

That had a ring of truth to it. An interesting response to the question -- apparently, the cadet had more investment in the association with the ship than with the crew. The continued anger didn't make sense. Picard glanced at the summary on his viewer again, and wondered. 

"You wrote in your application to the Academy about the history of your family in Starfleet -- how many generations, now?"

"Five, sir. My great-grandfather was aboard the _Intrepid_. My grandfather served on the _Enterprise_ , as did my father. "

"What was your father's name?"

"Darien Wallace, sir."

"Ah," Picard exclaimed, smiling as he recalled the man. "I remember him -- he worked his way through several departments. He transferred to the _Rutledge_ after the 1701-D was destroyed. I hope he's doing well?"

"Yes, sir." Now he didn't look happy. A rift in the family?

"Were you raised on board? I don't recall meeting you." 

Jacoby blinked at him. "I was on New Altair, with my mother. I only saw my father once in a while."

"You must be proud of him -- he's an excellent officer."

"I am, sir." 

The robotic manner, along with the realization that Jacoby didn't share his father's surname, led to an informed guess that not all was well between son and father. Picard stifled the sigh and glanced again at Jacoby's service record.

"What do you find most rewarding about being in Starfleet?"

This was where the cadets with aspirations and dreams would wax poetic for as long as they were allowed, about the things that excited them. Engineers would often get lost in technical details of favorite engine designs, and medical personnel in xenobiology. He kept looking for potential captains, but it didn't often happen that someone who expressed that goal showed much promise, or enthusiasm. 

Jacoby blinked. After a pause, he said, "I'm looking forward to seeing other worlds. I haven't traveled much, and exploration is what I'm hoping to do. So far, it's just been classes and talking about it."

"Exploration was my main motivation as well." Although, Picard thought, there had been more excitement in him on his worst days than Jacoby yet displayed. "First contact can be exciting."

"I've studied your career, sir." And, apparently, found it uninspiring. He looked bored.

This was the most tedious cadet yet. Picard wondered how to light a fire under Jacoby's chair -- even thought about Deanna, hoping she had additional insight, but though she was present in his thoughts, even a little sympathetic, she gave him nothing. Well, then.

Picard gazed at the cadet until he saw him shift in the chair. "Are you finding your time with the counselor productive?"

"Not really, sir. I don't see that I need counseling."

"I didn't care for it either. But, I wish that I had had the opportunity when I was a cadet to receive it. We had the option but it was never expected, encouraged, or as available as it is now -- some of the officers then even looked upon the need for counseling as a sign of weakness. I would have been a better officer, sooner, had I invested any time in it in spite of that prejudice."

Jacoby raised his head slightly. Was that interest? After a moment of contemplation, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I'm sure I would have been less angry and more self aware. I wasted a lot of time and energy trying to prove I was able to do anything and everything -- to be the perfect officer."

He was a difficult read, this Jacoby, but Picard thought he might be making a little headway in cutting through the facade. Jacoby's head tilted thoughtfully. "You've had counseling?"

"Officers usually do, these days -- and it's more and more the case that they need it. Surely you had the basic psychology class? They talk about this, I'm told."

"I suppose I'll have to do it, then."

Picard stared at the cadet again. "Do you think, Mr. Jacoby, that you are doing well?"

"Yes, sir." Another automatic answer.

"I don't."

A blink, and the brown eyes widened -- Jacoby looked directly at his face now. 

"When a human cadet puts up a wall and doesn't show any emotion at all, it concerns me. It creates doubt -- are you hiding something that should be dealt with? Because it's either a matter of your mental health, which is my concern as your commanding officer, or a matter of safety, if you're purposefully hiding something. You've been angry toward fellow cadets, dismissive of the counselor, hostile toward the first officer, and you're going through the motions of what I expect you to do -- apologizing to Ms. Hansen should have been the first thing you did, rather than waiting around until you felt like doing it, after showing up in Ten Forward to stare at her like a stalker. I'm trying to see why you want to be in Starfleet at all -- you don't appear to have any enthusiasm for it. We don't invest time and resources into training people who are unmotivated to do difficult, sometimes dangerous, work -- putting apathetic people in charge of a mission would be disastrous. I cannot fathom what would motivate me to recommend -- "

"Sir," Jacoby exclaimed. 

Picard now glared at the cadet, waiting for him to recognize what he'd done. Jacoby sat back in his chair, gaping a little, hanging his head.

"I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have interrupted."

Picard relaxed, somewhat, and continued to wait.

"I only wanted to say that I am motivated -- I do want to be in Starfleet. I know that what I did in the holodeck was wrong. But I've never -- I won't do it again, sir, and I -- it wasn't that I was stalking, I was waiting and trying to talk to her but she wouldn't look at me and just walked off when I tried to -- "

Time to lay it out as clearly and plainly as possible. "It's no longer about that incident, Cadet. It's about your attitude. A mistake is a mistake -- you weren't even formally reprimanded. But since you were caught, you've tried to deny, minimize, sidestep -- you've let it influence your general attitude toward myself, the first officer, Lieutenant Greenman -- letting emotions color your behavior on duty is something we all struggle with, I cannot deny that, but to the degree that you are showing this behavior? It's a problem, Mr. Jacoby. I bring it up not because of any personal feelings of my own, but because it is something you must address. Your behavior is entirely your responsibility regardless of how you feel about me or anyone else aboard, and you are not meeting expectations. You snapped back at Lieutenant Greenman instead of obeying an order. You told Lieutenant-Commander Davidson that it was 'none of his business' when he was doing his duty, assessing your emotional health. The essay on ethics that you wrote for Commander Troi's class was a joke. If you truly understood anything of what we have discussed here today, such things would not have happened."

Jacoby had the grace to react to it, finally, his cheeks reddening and his eyebrows furrowing. "I...."

"You don't want to make a bad impression."

The brown eyes swept up again, relief in them. "No. I'm sorry, sir. I really don't know what -- how to -- "

When words failed him, Jacoby stared at the floor, miserable. 

"Go to the counselor. It's his job to help you with this. You're not going to be punished for needing help."

Jacoby looked at him again, and now the fear was obvious. 

"I suppose someone told you that you wouldn't be allowed in Starfleet if you showed any sign of emotional difficulty. Let me make it clear to you that I expect you to be honest and stop making assumptions -- if you're unsure, ask. Make an appointment with the first officer if there remains any doubt in your mind as to what is expected. Your goal at this point is to begin to work through whatever it is you've been afraid we'll discover. If it isn't handled, it will be just as obvious as it is now that it's an impediment. Your impairment can affect the lives of your crewmates and the outcome of missions, as a Starfleet officer. It is your responsibility to take steps to maintain physical and mental fitness, to avoid such issues. If you expect to stay aboard, you will exceed -- not meet -- expectations, Cadet. Is that clear?"

"Yes... sir."

"Do not make us repeat ourselves -- get your head out of your ass, Cadet."

Jacoby gaped, nodded jerkily, realized that it wasn't enough, and said again, with hardly any volume, "Yes, sir."

Picard stifled a sigh -- he'd let himself turn this into a lecture, ending with an angry snarl. But maybe that was what Jacoby needed. "Do you have any questions?"

The cadet swallowed nervously. "Some of the other cadets, sir. They say you're...."

"Yes?" It was another one, he was sure now -- yet another cadet with an opinion about his relationship with Deanna. Damn them all and their presumption that they had a right to comment on it.

"You and the first officer. They say you're -- " As if it were too difficult to admit.

"It's not necessarily in the news any longer, so I suppose I can see how it would be a shock. Our oldest child is eleven, in case you're wondering. If rumors are spreading about the affair, you can set them straight -- it's not possible to have an affair with your own wife. Not that it's any legitimate concern of anyone -- the operation of this ship, your education, and doing your duty should be your focus. Relationships, as you might have deduced from your classes, are of no concern to Starfleet unless a personal relationship has a negative effect on performance of your duty. You can ask the first officer or the counselor for clarification if this continues to be a concern. Dismissed."

Jacoby left the room, walking stiffly as if in a daze, apparently a little shell-shocked. Picard stared at the glassy desktop, at the array of controls he had at his disposal, and wished he had a cup of tea just so he had something to throw across the room.

Deanna didn't ask for admittance, or announce her approach -- she came in, sat in 'her' chair, the one on the right, and folded her hands in her lap. She watched him shake his head.

"We'll arrive first thing in the morning," she said. 

He couldn't respond to that. He contemplated replicating things to throw. Looking at her, he wanted to wring necks -- the complete lack of respect Jacoby, among others, had shown this officer, who had thrown her heart and soul into her career and not only survived but flourished and deserved more commendations than she'd gotten, was so unbearable to him sometimes that it left him clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. The first thing anyone who came aboard focused on was their relationship -- it was as predictable as seeing stars out a viewport. The wave after wave lackluster cadets had, one after the next, been like an interminable cloud of insects that nibbled until they drove him mad with their lack of focus on their career. They should be so involved in improving their skills and performance they had no time to notice assignations of officers. And Admiral Greer -- that insufferable, pompous idiot performing the inspection following a refit, who had questioned, probed, criticized and sneered at them until he resurrected the old insecurities Deanna had been able to leave so far behind them -- the past two years had been almost too much. 

"If I set foot at Command -- on Academy grounds, I'm going to find the admittance board and kick them into the bay," he shouted. 

She gazed at him calmly. 

"What the hell are they doing? What happened to screenings and interviews? Have you read the applications of some of these cadets?"

"I have," she replied softly. 

Picard slumped, leaning forward, shaking his head again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't shout at you."

"I know you aren't shouting at me. It's only more concerning, with each wave of cadets," Deanna said. "I understand. I'm worried about the future too. You know we aren't the only ones to recognize it. Will is talking about it too -- he said he was in touch with some of his old classmates, who are teaching at the Academy right now. It's not an uncommon observation, that the cadets aren't so enthusiastic or motivated as before."

"Dee," he began, but stopped in shock at how terribly like a plea it came out. 

She rose, and it startled him when she came around the desk. He knew she used the ready room when he wasn't aboard, but she never came behind the desk when he was there. She propped her right hip on the edge of the desk, facing him, standing over him -- he'd automatically pivoted his chair to face her. 

"You heard what Yves said, Jean-Luc."

He had, but even a missive from the future didn't make it easier to watch the slow erosion of Starfleet from the inside. "I'm so tired of it -- I don't want to feel that all I've done, all these years, was for nothing. But that's what it feels like. When I have to prop up another cadet who shows so little drive -- where the hell are they? There have to be motivated cadets somewhere. If this mission worked -- if it changed things -- _why hasn't this changed?_ "

Deanna sighed. "We haven't got there yet."

"Got -- where?"

"To the point where it all pivots -- you haven't been working with Kathryn directly, these past months of this time loop. There have been shifts in her memory, as corrections have been made. Things come to her awareness that weren't remembered before. Jean-Luc, I know you're tired of fighting an enemy you were never trained to face, but trust me on this. As a counselor I had to hold hope on your behalf a number of times. I can do it for you now."

He tried to grasp the optimism -- he could, intellectually. 

"We have a rescue mission. Focus. Masochistic introspection can wait."

"Masochistic -- what?"

"A phrase Kathryn used -- she said we were evenly matched in masochistic introspection."

Picard rose, inhaled sharply, composed himself, pulling the sneer out of his lips, and tugged his jacket. Deanna stood away from the desk but didn't move. They stood together, mere inches of air space between them, gazing into each other's eyes. He exhaled slowly, feeling the upwelling of calm that had to be coming from her, as the corners of her mouth slid upward and she stood straight and strong, her hands behind her back. He could have leaned forward and kissed her cheek -- thought about it, and refrained, and knew she sensed it and returned the sensation. 

Deanna waited until he had reached equilibrium, and took a small step backward.

He nodded, finally, and she sidestepped around the end of the desk to precede him out onto the bridge. She took her seat and looked up at him calmly. 

Picard glanced at the viewscreen, the other officers, around his bridge -- all was as he expected it to be. Lana'hai was at tactical. He took a seat, nodding to himself. 

"Sir," Deanna said, quiet and questioning. In front of them, Edison's head turned toward them slightly, he saw out of the corner of his eye.

"Time to arrival?"

"Six hours, sir."

"Good. You may want to prepare for the possibility of an away mission, Commander."

She rose and turned to make her way from the bridge. "Aye, sir."


	24. Chapter 24

Janeway hurried back to the bridge with Tuvok, the Doctor, and Chakotay in her wake. When the lift doors opened there was a cerulean planet shrouded in misty clouds on the viewscreen. Janeway felt that old frisson of excitement -- an impending mission that didn't involve space battles appealed. Especially one that ended with getting Kes back.

"They're waiting for you," Mendez said, waving a hand toward the briefing room door.

"Thank you, Mr. Mendez." She swept down the bridge to the right and entered the room, as the officer seated himself in the center chair again. 

Picard and Troi waited in their usual seats at the far end of the table, and Janeway took the chair next to Troi without hesitation. Chakotay, Tuvok, and the Doctor followed suit to her right. 

"Thank you, Doctor, for providing Kes' medical records," Picard said. "Unfortunately, we have been unable to put them to good use. Apparently there are one or more species present that register as similar enough that the simple solution isn't going to work. So we're falling back on another uncomplicated method of determining her location."

"Uncomplicated." Tuvok raised an eyebrow.

"We asked Kes." Picard inclined his head toward his first officer. Deanna had her usual pleasant smile in place.

Janeway glanced again at Tuvok -- his other eyebrow had joined the first. She asked the question, as he seemed disinclined to. "So you have that kind of range, that you can contact her from the ship?"  
 "There are a number of telepaths on the planet. I tried the equivalent of shouting her name -- I can hear her response, if I concentrate. Since telepathy provides such a rapid exchange of information, it was enough." Deanna reached for the panel on the table, and a hologram sprang up in front of them. "She's fine, by the way -- she was evidently taken while in the marketplace looking for a way to earn currency to buy food. At the moment she is in a gambling establishment, on display. They are using her as entertainment in several ways, but she hasn't been injured."

"The shuttle isn't present, so far as we can tell. I have operations staff working on the matter of recovering it." Picard nodded to Deanna. "Tell them what you suggested."

"I think we should take the Doctor's mobile emitter, as backup -- to activate him if we need medical help or an additional member of the team. Two people, posing as a slave and a trader in search of additional 'stock' to sell elsewhere, go in and reconnoiter the establishment -- it should be easy enough to get in. We can't take weapons or communicators as there are scanners at all the doors." Deanna manipulated the hologram, and the doors glowed red. The wire frame of the building turned - a large room on the first floor sprouted small round tables surrounded by chairs, and even a chandelier of some kind dangling from the ceiling. There was a raised platform in the middle of the room. "The slave girls are usually shown in the center, on a stage. She's been there for about a month. Evidently she was sold twice -- this is in a different city than your lieutenants were in."

"Am I to assume you will be on the away team?" Janeway asked. It made sense, since she could communicate so easily with Kes.

Deanna glanced at her commanding officer. "The considerations are the same as for surveying pre-warp civilizations -- communication and security, without technology, and being able to blend with the population."

"Blending with the population on a commerce planet should not be difficult," Tuvok said. "They should be accustomed to seeing many aliens come and go."

Deanna shook her head. "If she were still in the original location, yes. But she's been moved to another continent, where the indigenous population predominates. Visitors to the planet rarely go there. Interacting with the population should be kept to a minimum. I would have to go along, I think, to function without a universal translator."

"You already know the language?" Janeway exclaimed.

"No, but I'm good with languages, and telepathy helps. On Betazed there are seven languages -- we're accustomed to bridging the gap with telepathy."

"Are you going to be the slave, or the trader?" Picard asked.

"It's a decidedly patriarchal society, so I would have to be in a subservient role. The Garidia are moderately aggressive, not telepathic at all, somewhat xenophobic -- they make efforts to keep offworlders in the capital city and minimize contact. As Lang mentioned, they do look very much like humans, with minor differences -- some cosmetic work in sickbay and replicated clothing will be necessary for whoever stands in as our trader."

"deLio can't do that, then. And Tuvok would need an ear job," Janeway said, looking at her security officer. 

"And a skin change. There are no dark-skinned Garidia. Chakotay would be unique as well -- he's taller than the majority of the natives. It would be so unusual that it would attract too much attention."

"No technology means the team would be cut off from the ship." Picard crossed his forearms on the edge of the table. "I don't like that."

"Not if you stay on the bridge. I can communicate with you easily enough."

"I'll go," Janeway said. 

Now everyone was looking at her with solemn expressions. At length, Picard spoke. "You're not cleared for duty."

"You'd have to dye your hair black," Deanna said. "And pass for male."

"Or make it a team of three -- a successful trader in slaves would have more wares with him, wouldn't he?"

"The slaves would not have to appear native," Tuvok pointed out. "And I would assume alien males would be acceptable slaves. I should go as a slave, or Lieutenant-Commander deLio."

Deanna cocked her head and studied the wire frame building on the table. "Actually... it would be useful to have multiple telepaths along. Silent communication would reduce risk of discovery."

"So who would make a convincing trader?" Chakotay said. "I can't imagine Harry or Tom pulling off the role -- it would take a certain amount of ruthlessness. I can think of a number of situations that might arise that would require some quick thinking, in a place like that."

Deanna nodded. "Ideally it would have to be someone who's done this kind of undercover work before, and unfortunately we have only one person who's had a lot of that kind of experience."

Picard rolled his eyes. "Not making me feel any younger, Dee. I thought I was supposed to be on the bridge?"

"This could be a very short mission, with the right people on the job. You made a good enough pirate mercenary."

He seemed embarrassed, putting his palm on his forehead. Janeway stifled a laugh. "I'd like to see that."

"Can you think of anyone else up to the task within the stated parameters?" Deanna asked. 

"Edison?"

"No," Deanna said firmly. Picard started to speak, but she frowned and shook her head. "No. The more I think about it, the easier it would be for you to go -- I could help you with the language issue more directly. And a Garidian trader would be expected to know the language. While I can see that it might be a very quick mission -- if we can get to Kes, and one of us can grab her while I initiate transport, it could be quite straightforward and brief -- I can also see the potential of being there for hours, working around obstacles that come up."

Picard took a moment to consider -- he stared at the wire frame building, obviously thinking it through. Janeway watched his face, thinking about all the missions this man had led, all the decisions he'd made that had changed history -- she hadn't taken the time to remember this about him, but the conversation with him earlier had reminded her of how the Federation had been shaped by captains like this one, and she started to think about just how much they all owed him. The movement of Deanna's head distracted her from this contemplation, and Janeway met her gaze, noted her expression of understanding and slight nod in agreement. Deanna gave her a tight, brief smile.

"What kind of costuming?" Picard asked, turning back to his first officer.

"Oh, well, it's very warm, this climate -- they wear minimal clothing. Something about this big." She held up her fingers to describe a four inch square.

The look he gave her, ire tinged with skepticism and a little amusement, was accompanied by a slight backward lean. "Commander."

"Nothing unusual," she rephrased. "Just not a uniform."

"For a moment, I thought there might have been a transporter accident involving you and Glendenning."

"Will asked me to prank you once in a while."

Picard frowned at her. "Typical. I suppose I should thank you for mostly failing to live up to his example."

Deanna nodded. "Twenty years of failing at lame jokes. There's a commendation for that, isn't there?"

"When do you leave?" Janeway asked. "And are we sure we don't need more slave girls?"

"Perhaps you should wait and see what the costume for the slaves looks like," Deanna said, eyeing Tuvok. The Vulcan's expression changed little, but Janeway detected faint disapproval.

"To the quartermaster," Picard intoned. "No time like the present."

\------------------

Deanna was correct -- the costume for his role was quite ordinary, compared to hers. Picard found the dirty brown trousers and boots quite comfortable. A long-sleeved shirt under a tattered simulated-leather jacket and a brimless gray hat completed the look. The quartermaster also provided a few weapons, a large knife in a sheath inside the left boot, a curious curved blade reminiscent of a Klingon weapon to keep tucked in the knotted belt, and a short reinforced leather strap that proved to have a battery for the purpose of delivering an electric shock, to keep the slaves in line. The setting on this imitation whip was low enough to be merely uncomfortable and likely ineffective with real slaves.

Janeway grinned at him when he walked out of the dressing room; he tipped the hat in greeting, and twirled the strap, glancing at the other dressing room door. Tuvok came out shirtless, wearing trousers and flat rope sandals. "I believe a slave would likely have some scarring," he said, eyeing the strap in Picard's hand. 

"When Deanna is done we'll head for sickbay. A little cosmetic alteration should be easy enough." Picard turned to the next door in the bank of dressing rooms, and a moment later Deanna emerged. Janeway gasped audibly. 

"I suppose," Picard began, working to calm himself, "that this will adequately distract onlookers from any deficiency in my performance."

"Indeed," Tuvok intoned, gazing down at Deanna. 

"This is quite similar to what Kes will be wearing. You should prepare yourself for plenty of other similar distractions." The very, very brief bottom half actually showed more than it covered. Green ribbon extended from the top two corners of a rectangular patch of emerald silk, uselessly covering a couple of square inches of her pubic hair; the ribbons extended over her hips and presumably connected in the back. The top wasn't quite bikini-like; rings set into the fabric actually exposed her nipples, the silk covering most of each breast. No ribbons or straps -- apparently it was glued in place. Her hair fell loose down her back and two clips kept it pinned back from her face. 

"It's a little more modest than I expected," Picard said, just to be ridiculous enough to get a smile from Deanna.

It was worth the incredulous look from Janeway. She actually gaped at him.

"Still want to come with us?" He smiled benignly at her. He immediately regretted it. It could sound like a challenge to someone who loved challenges.

"Do you have a robe?" Deanna asked, and Lieutenant Graves scuttled to take one off a peg on the wall. The quartermaster seemed a little rattled by his own creation in action.

Janeway walked with them toward sickbay, leaving the costume department. "Have you done a lot of this sort of thing?"

"Pre-warp civilization studies, yes. The commander had two intelligence ops -- then there was that incident with the Romulans. It was a little disconcerting, how seamlessly she infiltrated a Romulan vessel...."

"You're going to make me swear at you in Romulan," Deanna warned, holding her robe closed with crossed arms. "Or remind you of the time you got to play god."

"At least swearing in Romulan sounds more interesting than swearing in Klingon. There's also less spitting."

"I suppose I could try swearing in French."

"Have you any concerns, Mr. Tuvok?" Picard asked as they reached the lift.

"Only that I am apparently embarking on a mission with comedians."

Picard exchanged a smile with Deanna. "You see, Vulcans do have a sense of humor."

"The Doctor will wish he'd been out of your pocket for this one," Janeway exclaimed. "He likes to think he has a wit."

"A somewhat dim wit," Tuvok muttered.

"Oh, dear," Janeway breathed. "A pun." 

"I assure you, Captain, I do not 'pun.'"

"If you say so, Tuvok. But I submit that you shall fit in well, on this mission with comedians."

Mengis was expecting them, judging from his lack of surprise as he turned from two patients. Picard noted that two more _Voyager_ crew had presented for treatment -- one of them was the Talaxian. 

"Is everything all right?" Janeway exclaimed anxiously, stepping around them to approach the biobeds.

"Oh, yes, Captain," Neelix replied, hopping down and wincing as he landed. "Just a little muscle tear."

"More victims of deLio's martial arts class?" Picard asked.

"Quite. I understand some spots are required for your mission." Mengis looked him up and down, suppressing amusement.

"Just for the purveyor of alien slaves," Deanna said. "He needs to go native. Mr. Tuvok feels that scars and signs of mistreatment would be more appropriate for the slaves."

Picard tried to ignore the stares from the nurse and the Talaxian. Mengis gestured, and he followed the doctor into his office.

When he returned with three parallel lines of spots of varying diameter painted on his head, and two down either side of his neck, he found Janeway discussing something with Tuvok and Neelix, with Deanna waiting to one side patiently. Several jagged scars had been added to the Vulcan's torso, and Deanna had a faint one over her left eye. 

"Tomorrow won't work too well if the mission takes an unexpected turn, Neelix," Janeway was saying.

"Yes, yes, how about the following evening, then?" Neelix said excitedly. "After we celebrate -- we'll have the entire crew back together once Kes is back! I'm so excited, Captain!"

Deanna had a look of forbearance that suggested whatever Neelix planned was not to her liking. Picard came to a stop on Janeway's left, and she turned to him and did a double-take. 

"That's rather flattering, actually," she exclaimed. "The color compliments your eyes."

"We should be going," Deanna said. "We all have subdermal transponders, Captain Janeway. I can best communicate with those whom I have spent time in telepathic contact -- if you would stand by and stay alert, I can contact you to beam us away once we have Kes. In the event I am unable to contact you, for some reason, Yves would be the best choice of an emergency contact. He would be easier for me to connect with, but only if I'm unsuccessful in reaching you."

Janeway agreed to it, followed them all the way to the transporter room, took Deanna's robe as she stepped up on the platform, and Picard nodded to her and braced himself as the transporter began the process of disassembling them for delivery to the planet below. He had trusted Deanna to choose the location, and she did not disappoint. He found himself standing behind a building that clearly was abandoned, from the lack of people in the street and the fact that the swinging door hung on one hinge over some dilapidated stairs. Trash and a rank smell of something rotting made the back alley ambiance complete. 

Tuvok took the lead, Deanna followed, and Picard came behind them -- by the end of the alley, turning the corner into a narrow shady street between two- and three-story buildings, he had affected a swagger, swinging his short leather whip and glaring. The first few people they met as they made another ninety-degree turn into a wider, busier street dodged them without making eye contact, hurrying the opposite direction. 

They slowed as they turned again, into what was obviously a main street -- people walking in clusters from two to six people going both directions, and every half a block along the way had several storefronts and then a booth or tent full of tables of produce. Deanna hunched slightly, as if anticipating a blow from behind at any moment, and Tuvok also developed a round-shouldered, whipped posture, in addition to a slight limp that would make him appear to be a weaker, less threatening slave. 

{Three blocks down, on the right. The two story green building with the guard at the door. Kes says that it's getting busy -- it will be the dinner hour soon.}

A tall man with a lascivious leer on his face slowed, veered from walking in the flow of pedestrian traffic heading the other direction, reached over, and squeezed Deanna's right breast. Without thinking about it Picard lashed out with the strap, striking the man's wrist, and Deanna cringed away as if fearing punishment, bumping into Tuvok. The concurrent telepathic prompting pushed words from Picard's mouth that he didn't understand.

{Hands off the merchandise,} she informed him after the fact, so he understood what he'd said. The man had jumped aside then started to lunge toward him, but Picard glared -- he didn't have to fake the anger and aggression; the fear underneath it fed by the knowledge that this could be a misstep that scuttled the mission and put them all at risk, he stood his ground, letting the strap dangle at his side at the ready, while with his right hand he caressed the curved blade at his belt.

Deanna supplied the word for 'go' as the man backed off, so Picard could shove her forward roughly and give the order. The 'slaves' shuffled along. 

They encountered no more issues, knots of pedestrians avoiding them and giving them a wide berth, until they reached the closed doors of the establishment they were supposed to infiltrate. The guard wasn't Garidian -- he reminded Picard of a Gorn on steroids, twice as tall and chained to the pillar nearby. The collar he wore had a small panel on it -- a control collar of some sort. 

{They only use those on the very strong, aggressive slaves,} Deanna said. She provided a short sentence for him to use to address the guard to gain entrance -- a request to speak to the slave master of the house, essentially. It worked flawlessly. The uber-Gorn pulled open one of the doors and Picard used the single word again to set them in motion. 

The foyer was large, well lit, and clearly where they needed to stand -- three sets of closed doors all around, and a single male Garidian stood sentry. Deanna provided the words, again, requesting admittance to trade -- Picard gestured at the two 'slaves' as he spoke. The sentry bowed, slipped through a door, and left them waiting. 

{We are being monitored.} Deanna's telepathic warning led to Tuvok looking around with the bare minimum of movement -- his head tilted right, then he covered the leftward tilt with a scratch behind his ear. 

{How far are we from Kes?}

Tuvok stiffened -- if Picard hadn't been glaring at his merchandise as if ensuring they were well-behaved and in control, he wouldn't have noticed the slight tensing in the Vulcan's bare back. So he'd been startled by the response, which meant he'd heard it. Which meant Deanna was able to keep a three-way link open between them. 

{Not far. She's anxious, but trying to focus as we are on the task at hand. Sentry coming. He's suspicious, we don't have an appointment. Distraction needed.}

Deanna made a dash for the door -- the one behind them. Picard lashed out without a thought and the impact of the strap on her thigh coincided with the opening of the door and the return of the sentry. He sensed the flash of pain, but twisted his reaction into use, scowling, using the anger to appear to be a disapproving slave trader instead of a regretful officer.

"Don't take me in there," Deanna wailed -- of course she would be able to use her language and be in character, being an 'alien slave' and wanting to avoid being sold.

Picard grabbed her arm and jerked her upright, threw her forward, away from the door. She staggered and recovered herself, hunching miserably and crying. Tuvok maintained his cover, standing with sloped shoulders, dejected and waiting for instructions.

The sentry waited for the show to end, and then grinned at Picard, spitting a stream of hard consonants at him.

{We're to follow him.}

Picard nodded curtly at the sentry and snapped at his 'slaves' to move them forward again. They moved slowly down a long corridor with elaborate decorations and bright lights, stepping out into what must be the large room where clientele gathered. Some were playing games around the periphery of the room, and about half the tables had people sitting around them, drinking.

The pedestal in the middle of the room was quite a distance from the floor, and there were six women on it. He noticed the smallest, a blonde wearing white veils and barely anything else, looking at them. Then he turned to follow the sentry to a table occupied by a single large man -- the man stood, eyeing them in a calculating way. No -- he was looking at Deanna. Of course.

Deanna still hunched and sniffled, but following a series of instructions she passed along to him, Picard jabbed her in the small of her back with his thumb, snapped an order in Garidian to present herself, and she came to attention and threw her hair back as she brought her shoulders straight and back, shoving her breasts out. That served to further interest the man. He grunted a few words and gestured at the stage in the center of the room.

{He wants to see me dance. Almost too easy -- be ready for beamout.}

Picard shoved her to one side, in the direction of the stage, snapped his fingers, pointed, and she made a good showing of hurrying away, giving him a wild, terrified glance and scurrying between tables and chairs to leap up on the edge of the platform. The other women, all posturing and posing for the benefit of the customers, apparently waiting for the cue to dance, watched Deanna begin the steps for what Picard knew was the ritual dance she'd been rehearsing for the Festival. She was angling toward the little blonde, turn by turn, when a taller woman stepped forward with a furious grimace on her face, raising a hand, swinging a blade -- 

Pandemonium erupted with the first scream, and Picard took a step -- out of the corner of his eye he saw the slave master begin to lunge at him. Pivoting on the ball of his foot, Picard grabbed the man's broad shoulders and he went down -- Garidians were susceptible to the Vulcan neck pinch as so many other humanoids. 

He whirled, dodging a running customer, and ran toward what the customers were now fleeing, as two of the other women, Kes one of them, came to Deanna's aide. Or so he'd thought -- as he reached the edge of the stage, Tuvok suddenly at his side as well, the other 'helper' turned on Kes --

Doors were slamming -- open or closed, didn't matter. They had to get out of there. Picard remembered and reached in his pocket, squeezing the holo-emitter as he threw it, leaping upward, catching the edge of the stage with a toe and propelling himself into the melee. "Call for beam out!" he shouted in Standard, trusting rather than seeing the EMH was there. Deanna would need to focus to use telepathy and there was no focusing while she fended off two attackers and tried to protect Kes. She could hold off the blade from one assailant, but she no sooner threw off one than the other recovered and charged in again. She threw a kick and sent her assailant flying, but the other turned from Kes and lunged. Beyond her, there were several others watching -- how long before one of them jumped into the fray?

Diving into the flailing group of women, he heard an anguished cry and felt pain blossom in his chest -- Deanna had been stabbed, he thought, forcing himself between the attacking women and Deanna, reaching across her to grab Kes -- she bridged the gap and clasped his wrist. 

Just in time. The transporter caught them up. They materialized in sickbay, and there was the EMH at Picard's side, talking to him urgently, easing his fingers from Kes' arm. Picard realized he couldn't keep his legs under him; he went down on his left knee, and then there was Deanna reaching for him, her face a mask of fear and pain but her chest intact without so much as a scratch -- she hadn't been stabbed after all. That meant --

"Oh, good," he said, smiling at her, as the lights went out.


	25. Chapter 25

Janeway returned to the break room in sickbay and sat again in her chair. "He's still in surgery, but I think he will be all right. Mengis doesn't look quite as panicked as he did."

Kes looked relieved. "I'm so glad. I was so afraid -- I wish I could have warned them, but I had no idea that woman was so vicious. It seemed she didn't want more competition for tips -- she looked at Deanna as a threat."

Tuvok seemed to be contemplating the carafe of coffee in the middle of the table. Across from him, Chakotay sighed heavily. "I'm glad we haven't had to do much of that sort of work."

"Undercover, you mean? Some officers just aren't suited to it. I prefer direct, open contact, myself."

Tuvok's consideration of the carafe seemed to intensify. Janeway studied his face but saw no clues to what he was thinking. "What happened down there, Tuvok?"

The Vulcan's dark eyes shifted to her face. After a pause, he said, "I understand why Commander Troi chose as she did. We would not have reached Kes without the telepathic bond between she and the captain."

"Wait... Troi chose to take her captain," Chakotay said, as if not able to believe it. 

"She suggested it. He agreed," Janeway said. "It was a little surprising but apparently she was right."

Tuvok nodded. As he went on, Janeway heard what perhaps the others didn't -- Tuvok didn't express awe the way a human would. With Vulcans it was always in what was said, not the way they said it. "Her reasoning was that the most successful team would be the most experienced -- it is clear to me that they have worked together in such a capacity before. Neither of them hesitated to do what was needed. I do not believe you would have noticed when they were beamed to sickbay that she has weals on her thigh from the whip he carried -- she prompted him to act in the manner of a slave trader disciplining a slave, to distract when she sensed suspicion on the part of a sentry. He had the presence of mind to activate the Doctor while running to intervene when she was attacked, because he knew she would be unable to focus well enough to communicate telepathically as planned."

Janeway hadn't noticed Deanna's injury at all -- everyone's focus had been on the copiously-bleeding Picard, on the weapon firmly planted in the middle of his chest. Janeway had been on the bridge with Chakotay when the Doctor contacted the ship shouting for emergency medical transport. They'd made it to sickbay in time to see Picard being arranged on a biobed and Deanna and Kes standing to one side watching wide-eyed. The EMH had been shouting orders that Mengis ignored while telling his staff what to do.

"I've never met anyone like them," Kes said wonderingly. She looked at Tuvok. "Was I sensing it correctly, that you were -- I don't know how to describe it."

"She included me in her thoughts. I could also detect you there," Tuvok said. "But it was not a connection that required an intense effort, apparently. We were able to focus on the work at hand, and communicate without being distracted by the thoughts or feelings of the others in the link. I was not aware of the nature of the link until I heard her speak to the captain telepathically and he answered in kind. I have never experienced a meld or a link that was so controlled, yet so effortless."

"I hope we have time -- I'd like to spend time with her," Kes said. "I would love to know her better." She smiled suddenly, an unusually intense and radiant expression. And then, like she occasionally did, she reacted to Janeway's reaction to her -- the smile dimmed, and her eyes softened as she met Janeway's gaze. "I was just realizing -- when we materialized in sickbay, as he was falling to his knees, he looked up at her with such happiness -- I've been trying to sort out why he was so happy, but I think it was relief -- I remember when we were struggling with our assailants and he leaped up on the platform, he was reaching for me, one of them stabbed him and he was so afraid and shocked and suddenly he just pushed it all away, without a thought -- tucked his feelings in and kept reaching for me while putting himself between them and Deanna. He didn't even think about it. He wasn't even afraid for himself. He thought they had stabbed her, and then when he saw her, he knew that it was him and he felt such happiness that it wasn't her -- "

Kes burst into tears. Chakotay passed her one of the tissues from a box on the table -- clearly the break room had been a waiting room before -- and put an arm across her shoulders. "So he didn't see the stabbing? You're saying he felt it, but didn't see it."

"That sounds accurate," Tuvok said quietly. "I was attempting to intervene as well, to pull away one of the assailants, and did not witness what Kes is describing directly. But I did sense pain before the link was severed, and Troi's distress as she reacted to it. It was not a reaction she would have experienced had she been the injured party."

Janeway sat for a moment, taking it in, watching Kes calm herself. What she had been told rang true with this -- and, over and above all that was amazing about the bond between Picard and his wife, she found herself contemplating the depth of the feelings that Picard had for her, that in the moment of facing a deadly wound, he was unafraid but happy that it was not Deanna. 

A footstep shook Janeway out of her contemplation and Deanna spoke before Janeway could turn around. "I'd like to move this gathering to a briefing room. We're on our way back to rendezvous with _Venture_ and get back to the matter of repairs."

Janeway's incredulous stare didn't phase her. Deanna stood in the door, in uniform, her hair neatly twisted and tucked and out of the way on the back of her head. She had a faint smile. There was, perhaps, a little weariness around the eyes, that gave away stress and worry.

No one said anything as they followed her into main sickbay. Deanna went to the middle biobed, where her captain was resting now after surgery; the panel above the bed looked fairly normal, Janeway thought. The EMH came across sickbay with arms out to hug Kes. He'd been involved in the surgery while Deanna, Tuvok and Kes were checked by a nurse and then sent to change clothes.

"It's so good to see you, Doctor. I'm so relieved to be here -- thank you for coming with them to find me," Kes exclaimed. 

The Doctor said something to Kes, but Janeway paid more attention to Deanna, who touched Picard's face, sliding her palm down his cheek, and then she leaned down to kiss his forehead, then rest her own against his briefly. When she straightened, Picard's eyes opened. They spent a few moments looking each other in the eye, clearly connecting as they usually did - Deanna's hand found his and she leaned again, whispering something. She turned and headed for the door, glancing at Janeway as she left. Janeway in turn nodded to her officers and followed.

The five of them plus the Doctor in the lift was a tight fit, but it was a short ride. Deanna led the way to one of the rooms on deck two, and waited at a round table for them all to sit.

"We have a few things to discuss," Deanna said. "For one, I wanted to thank Mr. Tuvok for helping us recover Kes. And the Doctor -- you acted quickly in a confusing situation."

The EMH smiled broadly, but before he could launch into a gracious yet self-congratulatory 'you're welcome' speech, Deanna continued. 

"Kes and I have exchanged quite a bit of information already, but if you have any questions...." 

Kes smiled at Deanna and spoke as an afterthought, Janeway suspected. "I have -- but I think most of them can wait. Thank you so much, Commander, for everything -- Captain Janeway told me how you've come specifically to repair _Voyager_ and to help her. It's been so hard for so long, I think we were all feeling hopeless. I know for myself that it's been overwhelming, watching my friends struggle with -- "

A pause, while Kes recovered herself from the brink of tears. Janeway put a hand on Kes' shoulder. "I can only imagine how hard it was, being so sensitive and surrounded by so much depression and anxiety. I wish that it could have been different."

Kes stared at her with such an expression of shock that Janeway hesitated. Deanna gave her a startled look -- Janeway sighed. "It's Deanna's fault, actually, that I'm more aware of that now. I wish you'd told me before."

Kes swiveled her head back to Deanna. They were in a way opposites -- Deanna's dark eyes and heavy, long, curly black hair, her muscular, wide-hipped body, and Kes' short straight blond hair, blue eyes, and almost child-like frame. But each had an openness of expression, a calm, centered demeanor that could ease the troubled mind and invite one to feel comfortable in their presence. 

"Is Captain Picard going to be all right?" Kes asked, turning to the Doctor, and Janeway recognized that the conversation had moved on -- that Kes wanted it to move on.

"Frankly, I didn't believe he would be -- but Dr. Mengis repaired the damage and he appears to be well on his way to recovery. I thought that we were well beyond the time when artificial hearts were necessary but -- "

"Doctor," Deanna chided. 

"Certainly a new heart could be -- "

" _Doctor_!" 

The EMH, and Janeway, and Chakotay, stared at Deanna -- that was a hard tone none of them had heard before. It reminded Janeway of the times Yves, and his father, and assorted members of the crew, had referred to the commander in a way that hinted at this edge. But now Janeway understood completely. The Doctor, on the other hand, paused and began again.

"I was only suggesting -- "

"Doctor," Janeway said gently, reaching across Kes' shoulders to touch the Doctor's in at attempt to stop the enthusiastic adoption of a cause -- the Doctor's programming favored advocating for the patient, and sometimes that led to this sort of situation. "I'm sure if he wanted to, the captain would have explored the possibility already. Slow down. Think about his right to make the choice."

It was enough to get him to subside and sit with crossed arms, a disgruntled expression in place.

Deanna spent a moment in silent contemplation --- centering herself, Janeway thought. The Betazoid black eyes came open then, and focused on Janeway. No question about who she was addressing. 

"Your crew is together again. What are you going to do next?"

The shift of attitude turned Janeway's expectations around. She hesitated, noticing the expectant looks from the others; Chakotay, she saw out of the corner of her eye, had a grin -- he knew exactly what had just happened. After weeks of being asked to relax, take care of herself and recover, she had just been cleared for duty by the therapist treating her trauma.

"Well, of course, we need to finish repairs. And there are some other matters to address related to crew. I believe we have two couples waiting for a good time for a wedding -- we simply hadn't had a chance, over the past year of chaos. Promotions, certainly."

Deanna's proud smile held quite a bit of affection. "It may be useful for you to know that we have ten cadets nearing the end of their six month tour to consider, if you are requiring new crew. I took the liberty of putting out a bulletin to our own crew, as well as encouraging Tom to do the same, to see if anyone would like to join you for this adventure. If, of course, they don't mind being in two places at once for a couple of years."

"I wish you were able to tell me more about the great deed we are supposed to accomplish. I realize that it would violate -- "

Deanna's smile disappeared, and the intense gaze that followed startled Janeway to the point that she didn't finish her sentence. The commander looked from face to face, then put on a superficial smile and said, "Doctor, you had mentioned that you would like some upgrades for sickbay -- I agree that that would be a good idea. Please go find Mr. Edison and let him know that I asked you to give him a list. We'll do what we can for you."

The Doctor was so excited by the prospect that he didn't notice the dismissal implicit in it. He hurried out after thanking her, and Kes went with him after shooting Janeway a serious glance -- she had received her dismissal more directly, telepathically, Janeway suspected. Tuvok started to rise as well; he knew more about subtlety than any of them.

"Stay," Deanna said softly. The Vulcan settled back into his chair, his lips tightening slightly.

"So what are we supposed to be doing?" Chakotay asked after another moment of silence.

Deanna sighed, losing some of her ramrod-straightness, leaning forward a little. "You are about to spend two years doing more of the same things you already have done, with the added complication of having to avoid the K'Korll. I also anticipate that other species will present themselves and become allies -- they will at times want to join you. I encourage you to welcome them along with open arms. When you arrive at the Alpha Quadrant end of the wormhole, you will fall into the middle of a battle. We'll be there, but you will be a complete surprise to us, as it will be a previous version of ourselves. You cannot allow yourselves or your crew to inform us of anything we have been through in the past few months. You'll have to destroy some of the upgrades we're giving you before you arrive. I will suspect, but not question. Do you understand?"

"I think so. Are we supposed to join the battle, then?"

"Yes. But you'll have to defend the ships we are trying to destroy. Stop the fighting. Startle them into talking to you. I mentioned, I believe, an event in the past when assassins attempted to kill Captain Picard. Putting a stop to the battle will prevent a second battle that would have led to events that trigger the assassination attempt."

Janeway shook her head, grinning, thinking about all the problems of time travel. "I hope this isn't what happens all the time -- using time travel to fix mistakes?"

"The mistake in question would lead us on a road that ends with the destruction of the Federation."

"That's an amazing statement," Chakotay said. "Are you also clairvoyant?"

"Apparently, she has a son who does intelligence work with the Department of Temporal Relativity."

Deanna stared at her -- did her joke somehow strike something true? "After you get back to Earth, you will need to tell your stories."

"I'm sorry?" Janeway exchanged a surprised look with Chakotay. 

"I forwarded to you a collection of essays and articles that will demonstrate to you the nature of the problem. Over the past years since the end of the Dominion War, recruitments have declined to the point that we now have a staffing issue. There is actually a ship sitting in dry dock -- the official story is that design flaws are requiring further testing. The truth is that Starfleet standards cannot be lowered any more than they have been, so there are insufficient qualified officers to launch -- the recruits we do get are at best mediocre, at worst... Well. Ask Annika about her difficulties with Cadet Jacoby. Jean-Luc's frustration with the situation is shared, by most of the captains and admirals and by those of us having to train those that do make it to graduation. And he continues to hang on to his ship out of determination because on top of this crisis, we are facing a foe that cannot be attacked head on, with battle cruisers and phasers -- and the potential allies who might otherwise be brought over to help us fight this war have all been victims of the K'Korll, so are in technological deficits and unable to join us in eradicating the violent threats of others who, while not necessarily susceptible to the K'Korll, have been kept in check warring against each other but are now shifting to form alliances as they become more aware of the Federation. Predictions are that the Romulans will join the Federation, but it's unclear at this time when that will happen partially due to the situation with the Randra Alliance."

Janeway heaved a great, slow sigh, thinking about how all of this must put enormous pressure on them, as parents of four children, and how trapped they must feel at this point, not wanting to let go of what little control they had over the future of the Federation. Jean-Luc's reticence to let go of his ship made sense, now. 

"In essence, you want us to become a public relations tool," Chakotay said. "But isn't that what Command does anyway?"

Deanna's smile twisted until it became a grimace. "The captains of the fleet are aging, and sometimes dying in the most inconvenient ways. Disappearing into the Beta Quadrant with your ship and everyone aboard does not lead to stories of romance, intrigue, or space battles."

"But what about -- " Chakotay hesitated. "Well, what I remember hearing about was Captain Picard -- and they talked about others, too, when we were at the Academy. You know, you were there around the same time."

"It goes without saying that I am impressed by Captain Picard, and I am not at all referencing other aspects of our relationship."

"I can only hope I'm up to being a slave trader at that age," Chakotay said. 

Deanna gazed at him with an opaque expression that Janeway couldn't read. 

"Really?" Janeway asked, trying not to laugh.

"Well, okay, pretend to be one, convincingly, then." Chakotay shrugged and gave her a lopsided grin.

"There's a training for that," Deanna said, with an amused quirk of the lips. "Getting back to the issue at hand... The rest of the problem is retention. Too many people left Starfleet after the war. We haven't gotten enough new blood to replace them. Betazed is still rebuilding, as are so many worlds."

"You're saying that if we don't turn ourselves into an advertisement for adventure, Starfleet will become a shadow of what it was. And all the while, the Randra Alliance continues to grow as a threat regardless of the absence of the Randra, or a real Alliance." Janeway shook her head slowly, slumping in her chair. "So allow our story to be publicized. Does that include Chakotay and I?"

"Personal details are yours to share or not. I can tell you that Starfleet won't appreciate it if you did share that part of your adventure. I suspect that I will be offered a promotion only if I go to ground."

Janeway glared, but Deanna seemed to have accepted it as truth. "I don't like that thought at all."

Deanna's sad smile didn't appease. "Starfleet does not interfere in personal matters, but personal matters can interfere with Starfleet. There are unfortunately bitter admirals out there who are stupid enough to take their feelings to work with them, and smart enough to find official reasons to be petty. Officers who don't recognize hypocrisy in letting their feelings influence their jobs, even as they accuse Jean-Luc of the same."

Janeway's eyes narrowed. "On the one hand, it's obvious we need captains. On the other -- I can think of several ways an admiral's bars would be useful to me."

Deanna gave her that longsuffering look she usually gave her husband, when he was saying or doing something that had clearly become less endearing to her. "That is not what this is about, Kathryn."

"You are again ignoring the Temporal Prime Directive. I can see, however, that this is something about which we would be aware, after we return," Tuvok said. "You wanted me here to understand that it was important enough to address now."

"Captain Picard told me about your initial objections. I knew it would be important that you understood why Captain Janeway was doing as she will." Deanna turned a warm, affectionate smile on the impassive Vulcan -- as well she should, if she had been in contact with him telepathically -- Janeway understood that side of him, too.

"Your connection with me seems effortless. I must admit that I find myself wishing that it were so easy for me."

"Because of your work with Kes, and with Mr. Suder?" The latter was a more serious subject for Deanna; the smile waned. "You've done an excellent job with him. But you know, surely, that his passivity could change too easily."

Janeway's head whipped left as she looked at Tuvok -- what was this? Tuvok paid her no attention. He sat with his hands clasped on the table in front of him, thumbs together. "What do you mean?"

"He's insane. Not in a human way -- Betazoids have a need for telepathic contact. He has never had that. Clearly either orphaned and taken in by non-telepaths, or simply brain damaged from birth. I think I may be able to help him."

At that, Janeway was nearly as interested as Tuvok -- she caught herself sitting up straighter. If Tuvok could perk his ears like a dog, he'd be doing it, she thought, noticing the ever-so-slight forward tilt of his shoulders.

"I would like to see you do so, as I have been attempting this myself."

"Then we'll go do that, when we're done here. Do you have any questions, Captain?"

"I was curious if you would be able to teach Kes your technique for healing trauma. I'm guessing that's what you will try with Mr. Suder?"

Deanna nodded. "Kes will join us."

And she did, as they left the briefing room. She might have been waiting outside. Kes flashed Janeway a smile and fell in step beside her. "Neelix is in a holodeck, cooking -- you didn't tell me we would be having a reunion. What a wonderful idea."

"I'm glad he took the initiative. We're going -- "

" -- to meet with Mr. Suder, to offer him -- sorry." Kes' light laughter was like music to Janeway's ear. "I guess I'm not used to being with other telepaths -- Tuvok doesn't make a habit of using his ability so casually."

"So I'm a bad influence on you?" Deanna said as they reached the lift. 

"Chakotay, we should let them go on -- meet with Mr. Suder without us. We don't have to be there for the procedure itself."

Deanna nodded to them as the lift doors shut between them, and the telepaths were gone. Janeway turned to look at her first officer. He had a knowing smile, a happy one, and waited for her to say something.

"You want to be a slave trader," she said, dubious.

"Well, no -- just a very fit and ready for anything old officer. But you knew that."

"Chakotay, do you think I'm too -- what's the word I'm looking for? Affectionate?"

"Not nearly enough for my liking," he exclaimed, clearly teasing. But when she didn't smile at it, he shifted gears. "You mean with crew?"

"In the meeting before we left to get Kes, it was clear to me that we had three distinctly different captains in the room -- Tom and his usual brand of humor, Jean-Luc's focus and professionalism, and both of them were surprised when I was talking to Lang and Tassoni. It never occurred to me that I was really so different."

"I guess I hadn't thought about that. But you're right. I don't recall my former CO's being so...warm. That's the word. You have a genuine affection for most of your crew, even Neelix and the Doctor." 

"But Picard can be warm," she said. "He lets his officers tease him, at times."

"But when it comes to duty, he's all business. I'm sure he tolerates a lot, from officers he cares about. Think about it, though. Deanna didn't develop that hardness out of nowhere. Most of her career has been under Picard. Her demeanor is a compromise between the counselor she was and the CO she has, because that's what's needed to balance things. He's seen how many years of cadets and changes in the fleet, now? You can bet he's adapted from what he was before, too."

"But do you think that I've ever crossed a line? Has it been a problem?"

"If anything, I think it's made the trip across the Delta Quadrant more successful -- I'd call your approach balanced. Firm when you have to be, softer when you can be. Authentic. You're Captain Janeway. Not Picard, or Glendenning, or anyone else."

She pursed her lips, hoping he wasn't downplaying or avoiding the truth.

"I'm not lying. It works. I think you would be a great teacher, for the Academy."

Janeway started to respond, then thought about Deanna conscripting her not so long ago to join her in a cadet training. Perhaps the commander hadn't been intentionally encouraging her toward a relationship with Chakotay, but having her working with cadets could have been deliberate nudging -- especially considering what Deanna had just told them.

"What about you?"

"I wouldn't mind teaching." Chakotay shrugged. "Maybe something to do with first contact dynamics, or how to be an effective first officer in the face of stubborn, self destructive commanding officers." He was only half-serious.

Janeway propped her hands on her hips. "Let's talk about this a little more in our quarters."

She made it into the lift and looked back, to find him standing like a statue, bereft. 

"Chakotay?"

"Our -- " He grinned, suddenly. 

"Get in here," she exclaimed, holding the door open. "What's so surprising about that?"

"You just hadn't said it yet." He came in, and she let the door shut.

"Are you waiting for me to say things before you let them be real?"

Another grin. "Or delegate such pronouncements so I have permission to make them?"

"Chakotay...." She deliberately let her hands fall at her sides, as they had jumped up to perch on her hips all on their own. "Are you serious about this?"

"I wasn't sure if following the Picard-Troi model would work for that. We just talked about an example of how you're not like either of those fraternizing captains, so I figured I'd wait and see what your unique style of fraternizing while in command might be."

"Computer, deck eight." Crossing her arms, she thought about it while she studied him, waiting for him to crack a smile again, to see if he was serious. "I think I would prefer an equal footing, in the personal realm. If that's okay with you?"

"You don't think they have an equal footing?"

"I do -- but not.... It's hard to explain."

"I have the feeling you're not the first to say that. Let's be easier to explain."

Janeway smiled at him. "That sounds good to me. We'll figure it out, Chakotay."

"I know. It's one of the things I love about you."

"You love that I'm stubborn?"

"Not exactly. It's just reassuring to me that once you decide to do something, you don't back down."

She looked at him, thinking about the times they had clashed in dire circumstances about what to do. "It's equally reassuring to me that you'll call me out if you feel you need to," she said quietly, hoping he would hear the implicit request.

"Catch you any time you fall," he whispered. "It's a deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested: google pharoah hound to see what Fidele actually looks like.
> 
> Sitting here editing this story with NCIS playing in a Firefox window, and Marina Sirtis suddenly appears -- playing the director of Mossad (Israeli Intelligence). Season 10, Episode 21. Slightly different accent, same voice. (If only they all aged as gracefully as Patrick Stewart...)


	26. Chapter 26

Picard scowled at Mengis, and continued to do so as the doctor added more forbidden activities to an already-long list.

"I do know how to rest, Doctor," he exclaimed, wedging the complaint between 'no aerobic activities' and whatever came next.

Mengis crossed his arms. Frowned.

"Perhaps if you sent a copy of your list to my wife?"

"So the real trouble is saying no to your wife? I see."

"Doctor," Picard growled, glaring, ignoring the barely-audible giggle from Nurse Soares, who was ineffectively involved in whatever she was pretending to do across the room.

"No wrestling with the kids. No sexual activity. No excitement, no adrenalin, no exhilaration."

"I shall do my best imitation of a corpse, if it will terminate this unendurable list!"

"No arguing with your doctor," Mengis stated firmly, imperturbable. He brought his hand up swiftly and pressed a monitor against Picard's neck. "If this goes off, it will send burly crew members to your door to subdue you and beam you back to sickbay. If that happens I will summon Dr. Crusher and ask her to kick your ass. And then I will tell the commander -- "

"You've made your point," Picard whispered. "Greg. Please."

"Since I have run out of threats, I suppose it will suffice. I shall reserve begging and pleading for later."

He made a show of walking from sickbay at a gentle, cautious pace, accelerating to a more normal walk once the doors closed. However, since his chest was actually sore, he slowed a little and took shorter steps until it eased somewhat. In the lift, he found himself leaning against the wall. 

As he contemplated returning to sickbay and another few hours of discomfort on a hard biobed while not sleeping a wink and listening to Nurse Soares bragging to Ensign Argyle about her latest boyfriend's sexual prowess, the lift halted on the wrong section of deck eight and Janeway came in followed by Deanna, who had clearly sensed him prior to the door opening and was actively scowling. 

"Jean-Luc!"

The only tactic that stood a chance was bashful honesty. "I'm going home."

Most of her ire faded. He could sense that the bond was wide open, that while he wasn't conscious of everything she felt or thought, she easily understood what he'd been thinking. She usually didn't do that -- relying too much on telepathic communication would too radically change their relationship dynamic with the rest of the crew. But she was concerned, and Janeway was with her, and so she understood he would want to avoid an argument and reassured herself more directly.

As the lift doors closed, she slipped an arm around his waist. "It's too soon. You should have stayed in sickbay."

"I can't sleep there. I keep waking up and almost rolling off the bed." That he'd almost rolled off reaching for her didn't need to be said. She'd complained for most of their marriage about his habit of being clingy in his sleep.

"You may have to go back tonight. You probably come in handy keeping the night nurse awake with your snoring." 

He frowned, trying not to smile at her teasing. Janeway was chuckling at them. The door opened again, in the correct section of deck eight, and Deanna walked with him to their door.

"Thank you, Deanna," Janeway said. "I'll see you later?"

"Yes."

Janeway gave Picard a sympathetic look. "I hope you're better soon. That looked horrible."

"Not my first knifing. It hurts less each time."

Janeway raised her eyebrows, her smile pulling itself straight, and shook her head as she walked off.

"Seriously, Jean-Luc, why do you do that? She's already impressed enough with you," Deanna exclaimed as they entered their quarters.

"Maybe it was to impress you."

She left him on the couch and went to the replicator. "Put your feet up. I'll make us tea." As she turned with a tea service on a tray, the annunciator chimed. "Oh, I was hoping she was heading for Janeway's," Deanna muttered as she hurried to put the tray on the coffee table. 

"I'm not supposed to get upset about things, that was on the list. So I'll just avoid burly crew, scoldings from medical professionals, and pretend I'm not here." Picard took a deep breath and resigned himself to not say a word, whatever Deanna decided to do with Annika this time.

"List? What are you talking about?" Deanna straightened and faced the door. "Come in."

The former Borg did so, but not all the way in, and she glanced at Picard with some surprise. "Captain. I was not expecting to see you -- I was told you were severely injured."

"He was, but he's also stubborn as hell and twice as hardheaded. Did you need something? I thought we were supposed to meet tomorrow?" Deanna asked.

"We are. I wanted to tell you...." Annika glanced at Picard again, and blushed. 

"Should I pour the tea?" he asked. Which led to Deanna rearranging a couple of chairs, and the three of them settling in with cups of tea that she poured, having scolded him for trying to sit up again.

"Continue," he said, looking at Annika over the rim of his cup as he raised it to sip.

{So much for not being here?} Deanna shot him a brief, pointed look.

"I helped Guinan at lunch today. Cadet Jacoby was there."

Picard sighed. He had to make a concerted effort not to allow that to irritate him to the point of anger -- he had expected more of the same, after all. 

"We talked about what happened and I informed him of my past, and he said he had no idea and apologized, more sincerely than before."

Picard smiled happily. "Really."

"He asked me if I would like to have dinner with him," she continued, the blush returning to her pale cheeks. She didn't seem able to look at either of them. 

Picard glanced at Deanna and saw the expression that matched the wariness and alarm both of them felt. Apparently, the idiot boy was as clueless as he appeared. 

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Annika," Deanna said carefully.

Her blue eyes went wide. Annika had perhaps expected that. "Thank you for being honest. I was uncertain whether it would be wise, considering what happened."

"I want to talk to you more about it, but we should wait for tomorrow's appointment. If you go to Ten Forward again, take Lieutenant Greenman with you."

Annika nodded. Her gaze turned to Picard. "I hope you feel better soon, Captain. Kes told me you were injured while rescuing her. Thank you, for helping her."

He watched her leave, speechless. Shaking it off, he sipped tea and put aside the cup and saucer, on the table.

"She's making good progress, but -- oh, that could have ended so badly," Deanna exclaimed. "I'm glad she's starting to trust us enough to ask about these things first."

"I'm going to delegate kicking Jacoby's ass through a bulkhead to you. Take a video."

Deanna had the intense expression that usually preceded the sort of ass-kicking only an empath could manage. "I think he may need an accelerated course in appropriate behavior."

"Guerrilla counseling?"

"Perhaps. It may be that a lack of a recommendation will take care of the situation without intervention, he'll go home, we'll never see him again." She leaned to put her cup on the tray, then sat up and studied him. He could almost see the gears turning. 

"Dee?"

She rose and came around the table, dropping to one knee beside the couch. Laying a hand on his chest, she leaned in and brushed her lips along his cheek, then rested her head on his shoulder and let him sense that she was upset. After a moment he put a hand on her hair.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I was only trying to get us out of there as quickly as possible." 

"You were just being Captain Picard. As usual. I love him too, you know."

He chuckled at it. "How lucky he is."

"I should go. But I'm a little anxious about leaving you here. You might try to engage in masochistic introspection."

"I'll go to bed. At least until the children come home. I'm sure Cordelia will wake me up every few minutes to ask me if I'm all right."

"I'm going to arrange a babysitter, so you don't have to chase the twins. What list were you talking about?"

"Mengis gave me a list of things I can't do. I'm at risk of being hauled back to sickbay if I get too excited."

Deanna sat back to look at him, unfortunately. "That makes sense to me. You just had surgery. He informed me you would be off duty for at least a week, and you have daily sickbay appointments to attend. Advances in regeneration tech have been impressive but it's still not immediately effective."

"Yes, I'm supposed to have intimate encounters with the regenerator. I hope you don't mind."

"I think I know that regenerator myself. She has a gentle touch."

"It's just a fling, really." Her mouth twitched into a smile. Picard grinned, letting his head fall back on a pillow. "I love you, Deanna."

The smile blossomed. "I may have noticed that, once or twice. I'm glad to hear it, I might have been confused by you appearing in my bed every night."

"You should probably leave. I'm getting excited."

Now she was laughing at him, without laughing. "All right, I'll say hello to Tom for you. I'll be back to feed you and bathe you and tuck you in, since I'm sure you can't manage -- no doubt all those things are also on the list."

"Oh, it sounds terrible, but I suppose I'll live."

Deanna stood up, crossed her arms, and tried to look stern. "No excitement. Remember?"

"I know, I know. I'll be good."

She kissed his forehead as if he were one of the children and left. In the quiet that followed, he dozed off repeatedly, waking every so often as he shifted and nearly rolled off. Finally he sat up and slowly eased his way off the couch, and went to bed.


	27. Chapter 27

Janeway found herself wilting after three hours. The reunion had been wonderful -- everyone so happy to see each other, and the copious amounts of food Neelix had made with Malia's help had hardly been touched in the excitement to hug and greet and talk about their experiences while everyone had been apart. Annika had been there for the first hour and a half, until she could no longer tolerate the reaction of more than a hundred shipmates, seeing her in a dress with her hair down around her face. She'd been the first to go. 

"There you are," Chakotay said. She turned around and smiled at him wearily.

"Have you been hugged to oblivion yet?"

"Not quite, but I do feel somewhat compressed." He jerked his head toward the holodeck exit, at the other end of the buffet table. "Let's go. You look like you're about to fall into the plomeek soup. The coffee must be all gone?"

"Oh, even I can't keep drinking coffee all day. Are you sure we should be seen leaving together?" Just standing there talking to him had drawn attention; she could see quite a number of grinning faces around them, just by glancing back and forth. 

"As Dr. Crusher would say, if they don't already know we're in each other's uniforms by now, I'll eat my boots."

She couldn't suppress the laugh. "When did she say that?" 

"At the dinner party they threw us --- she was telling Picard to loosen up, gave him a version of it trying to get him to just relax already."

Janeway followed him toward the exit. "It's almost as though they make it a game, teasing him. He seems to tolerate it well enough."

"I'd bet he can give as good as he gets. But I also think he has to be comfortable enough with the officer on a personal level before he'll give it."

"So if he starts cracking jokes with me, I'll know we're friends?" She thought she'd already gotten to that point, he'd let her address him by first name, but started to wonder. Chakotay had a good instinct about people.

"Older officers I've known are like that. The formality becomes part of their personality."

They reached deck eight and slowed -- Paris was coming from the opposite direction. Janeway knew Tom and his family had been housed somewhere on deck eight, but assumed it was on the other side of the saucer section, as she'd never seen them in the corridor.

"Hi, Captain. It was a great party," he said. "B'Elanna sent me to get Miral -- I guess the babysitter also had to babysit the Picard kids."

"Not surprising." Janeway reached for the panel next to the door. "I'd like to see how the captain is doing, myself."

"He's not in sickbay?" Chakotay sounded completely shocked.

"Apparently he has magical powers that I need to learn. The art of persuading doctors to let you leave sickbay after surgery." Janeway turned as the door opened, ignoring Tom's bark of laughter.

The furniture had been rearranged. The table and chairs had been shifted toward the toy box at the other end of the room, as had the easy chair and coffee table. Amy sat on a footstool at the far end of the couch, reading a book out loud. Picard lay on the couch propped up on pillows with a blanket thrown over him, and Miral slept against his right shoulder; his arms were draped on his chest and his eyes closed. Amy and her father wore two of the many paper hats that the kids had made for Deanna's party.

Amy smiled at them and closed her book. "Hi!"

"Weren't you supposed to have a sitter?" Janeway asked.

Yves appeared from the left, coming out of the door that led to the kids' bedrooms. "We had two. Lieutenant Kelly had to leave, so Aunt Bee came over. She's in the twins' room trying to get Pierre to put on a shirt."

Picard stirred, starting to push himself up, an arm around the sleeping toddler to support her, and Fidele, who sat at his feet at attention, barked once. Sighing, Picard settled back again. Seconds later Dr. Crusher emerged at a jog. "Jean-Luc," she scolded.

"I know," he said dejectedly. "But we have guests."

The doctor turned, smiled at Janeway and Chakotay, and gestured at Paris. "You'd like your daughter back, no doubt." She went to the couch and plucked Miral off Picard's chest. The little girl hardly had time to start to complain about the transfer of custody before she was handed to her father. 

"Thanks. She looks like she's had a great time," Tom exclaimed, taking his floppy, tired daughter.

"Yves only had to run her once around deck eight and she went down easy -- once we figured out who her favorite person in the room was." Crusher smirked and looked back at Picard. If he heard her, he gave no sign. He was too busy giving his hat to Amy and smiling at Cordelia, who had brought him another hat. Janeway smiled at the sight of Captain Picard putting on a lopsided purple crown and accepting a small pink stuffed animal -- Mr. Pogs. Cordelia had clearly determined that the healing power of Mr. Pogs was needed once again.

"Get your stuff, kids," Crusher announced. Amy and Cordelia ran for their rooms, and Yves stood waiting -- Janeway noticed then the bag slung over his shoulder.

"Good night," Paris said, turning to head back out.

"Good night, Tom. Going somewhere, Yves?" Janeway asked. He grinned and looked at Crusher.

"Tom and I are taking the kids for the night," Crusher said. "Give them all kinds of candy, keep them up late, and Tom might just have some Romulan ale to share with Yves. We'll give each of them a drum set before we bring them back in the morning."

"Ha, ha," Picard said calmly from the couch. "Tom knows exactly how Deanna would react to that. Fidele, you should go with the children."

"Deanna said that I should follow her orders until she returns," Fidele said in his pleasant tenor.

"She's almost here."

Chakotay made a surprised sound -- Janeway suspected it was a suppressed reaction. Picard's statement came true. The door opened behind them and here came Deanna. She smiled at Chakotay, at Janeway, and turned to hug her children one by one, then the doctor as Crusher followed the four little Picards out. Deanna told Fidele to go as well, and the dog leaped to obey, racing out after them.

And then Deanna stood for a moment in the middle of the room, eyes closed.

"I hear it, too." Picard smiled wearily. "Silence."

Deanna turned to Janeway. "I don't suppose I could talk you into teaching my class in the morning? An impromptu lecture on ethics in holodeck two, at nine hundred?"

"Sure. I was going to hold out to convince Jean-Luc he should be in Neelix's talent show tomorrow evening, but I'll settle for starting to pay back the debt I owe you for all the help."

"I don't know how much talent I have left," he grumbled. "I threw my heart into the last performance."

Deanna glared at him. "That isn't funny."

"I did get a new one out of it." 

Janeway exchanged glances with Chakotay -- what he'd said about Picard not even half an hour ago now seemed prescient. Then she realized what Picard was saying. "The surgery, it wasn't just repairing a wound, was it?" 

Deanna grimaced. "Heart replacement. The new one is hopefully going to avoid having a knife crack the aorta open."

"I can try. No promises on that count."

"Nothing like Starfleet," Chakotay said. "All the ways we get blindsided and battered."

"Macroviruses, telepathic pitcher plants, the aliens doing experiments on us. Spacial distortions -- the time we had the ship folding in on us." Janeway shook her head. She noticed that now, mentioning those things caused her any anxiety at all, and smiled at it.

Deanna was looking at Picard now. "Arrows, knives, phasers, spears -- there was that one planet, what was it called? The one where they threw fruit. The glass window you decided would be the best exit -- Beverly called you Captain Pincushion."

Picard groaned, rolling his eyes. "The thing with teeth -- what did Will call it?"

"The ass muncher," Deanna said, seating herself on the stool that Amy had vacated. "Not, of course, the name we gave it in the official records. Will laughed whenever you tried to sit down without wincing."

"You fared better, though the non corporeal life forms seemed to gravitate to you."

"I stabbed you, thanks to one of those. Tried to anyway," she said.

"And I stabbed you -- not one of my finer moments."

"I came to see how you were doing -- I didn't mean to send you down this tangent," Janeway exclaimed.

Picard huffed -- almost a laugh, not quite. "I had another reason to go there, actually. I've been reading my own medical records."

"What for?" Deanna asked. 

For an answer, he picked up the padd that was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch. "Read this entry."

Deanna frowned as she did so. "This is about an implant. The one -- " Her head jerked up as she stared at her captain. "The one Dr. Crusher disabled, after you stabbed me. Except it wasn't a stabbing, more my attempt to get the knife away from you."

"Because I was trying to kill myself. Assimilation was not something I expected to come back from," Picard told Janeway. He looked up at Deanna. "I could not stop feeling fear, that I was not able to connect to anything -- you never told me it was that implant, causing that issue."

"We had a theory, based on the location of the implant and brain scans, that it was affecting your limbic system. That for some reason the Borg were doing their best to stimulate those areas of the brain in ways that circumvented the return of normal emotional responses. While it's true that you returned to normal after it was partially disabled, it could have just as easily been recovery from related brain trauma." Deanna gave him a sympathetic smile. "Beverly couldn't remove it, but she was able to rewrite or turn off some of the code with Data's help. Keep the code that didn't interfere with normal brain function, eliminate the problem code that interfered."

"But I think it was why I was in such an irrational state of fear, about nearly anything I tried to think about. Consider it -- if a drone is separated from the Collective, rather than wasting the resource, or letting it become a source of information or an ally for your enemies, make it afraid to the point of panic, so it does its best to return to the hive mind. Geordi and Data did the same procedure with Hugh, once we'd decided to help him. He showed no sign of the same emotional reaction, because they altered the code early on, based on what they'd learned from helping me."

"So -- " Deanna tapped her badge. "Troi to Hansen."

The response was not immediate. "Yes, Commander?"

"Please come to the captain's quarters."

"I shall be there shortly."

"I'm not sure you'll get her to capitulate, but what would happen to her if she does?" Janeway asked. She gazed at Picard's solemn expression. He met her gaze, and shifted his eyes up toward Deanna, impassive. The commander rose and went to the desk, retrieving a tricorder from somewhere behind it. Janeway smiled again -- it would make sense that they would have a medical tricorder on hand, with four children.

"Dee," the captain said sharply.

"Settle down." Deanna returned to sit on the stool, absorbing herself in the settings of the tricorder. She picked up the padd from where she'd left it on the floor and balanced it on her knee while working.

"Don't go outside your scope," Picard exclaimed.

"I was there when they worked on this. The sequence substitution isn't -- "

The annunciator went off. When Deanna admitted her, Annika walked in -- she actually smiled a little at Janeway and Chakotay, raised an eyebrow at Deanna, and after a moment's consideration, sat on the nearest of the chairs, and waited. Janeway almost said something about the change from her previous behavior. It wasn't what she'd expected -- Annika was almost deferential, waiting for the commander to say something.

Deanna simply handed her the tricorder and padd. Picard sighed and lost the tension he'd had since she'd started playing with the tricorder. She turned a raised eyebrow on him, looking insulted. Janeway wondered about the exchange -- had he really expected Deanna to just implement a procedure like that?

"You are suggesting partially disabling the implant in my midbrain. To what end?" Annika sounded merely curious -- not at all suspicious. She held up the tricorder and ran a scan of her own head. "The implant in question remains intact. The Doctor obviously did not see fit to make this change."

Deanna shifted on her seat to face Annika. "Your feelings are being influenced by it. The change would allow your mind to function normally."

"The Doctor left the implant functioning because removing it would be lethal."

"Yes," Picard said. His expression shifted subtly -- something that happened whenever the Borg were the topic, Janeway realized. "But leaving it as it is impairs your functioning as a human."

Annika looked again at the padd. She seemed to be thinking about it. Janeway shot Chakotay a glance; he gestured at the door, she nodded, and he slipped out. She noted that he turned right toward their quarters as the door closed behind him. Janeway quietly moved left, seating herself in a chair behind Annika, brushing a hand down her shoulder. 

Annika surprised her by turning to look at her, with calculating blue eyes that softened somewhat. "Do you believe I should modify my implant as they are suggesting?"

Janeway was startled -- Annika hadn't asked her advice in a long time. "If it keeps you from making progress toward your goal. I think Captain Picard is correct. It makes sense. You've had difficulty with emotions since you came aboard."

"Captain Picard.... " Annika turned and stared at him. 

Picard had pulled himself into a seated position, shoving the blanket aside. Cordelia's paper crown had fallen off and disappeared somewhere over the end of the couch, and Mr. Pogs had been abandoned on the arm of the couch. He winced and put a hand to his shoulder briefly, then relaxed. 

"It was one of many steps toward my recovery from assimilation," he told Annika matter-of-factly. "But it's your choice. I wanted to be as I was before -- I needed to have my emotions, to function. I would have been seriously impaired had it been left as it was."

"Then why did the Doctor not do this already, when he was removing other implants?" Annika turned this question on Janeway. Now anxiety showed in her face.

"The Doctor was perhaps unaware that it could be done, or that it might be causing you difficulties," Deanna said softly. "He wouldn't have access to everything in Captain Picard's medical records, necessarily. He may also have been focused on your physical health, over and above your mental health. I'm sure he intended to take any additional steps needed to help you as intervention was needed."

"It is a programming change. It can be undone, if it damages me. I will try it." Annika held up the tricorder. Janeway thought she was examining the settings some more, but then Annika entered a swift series of commands -- Janeway's alarm appeared in Deanna's face as the commander rose and took a step toward the former Borg -- then Annika cried out as if in pain, dropping the tricorder.

Everyone froze -- Picard stared in dismay, the monitor on his neck registering his anxiety as the green light turned yellow and emitted a quiet beep. It distracted Deanna from her dismayed observation of Annika; she moved to sit next to him, taking his hand. Janeway returned her focus to the former Borg's reaction to the change she'd made.

Annika seemed frozen, with her hand to her temple. The shock on her face gave way to an expression that was hard to understand -- fear, revulsion, anger and more flitted through her face. "It -- I -- "

Janeway almost reached for her, but Deanna cleared her throat and shook her head.

"Papa," Annika blurted. Suddenly her arms drew in across her chest, and she hunched over like a frightened child. "Why -- why am I remembering this?" she cried.

"Your feelings are triggering flashbacks," Picard said. Janeway had expected Deanna to respond -- the reassurance and warmth he was extending to Annika shocked her. "Memories aren't just pictures and sounds -- your body remembers. It will pass."

"No! I want it to stop!" she sobbed. Her hands went to her face. At that point Deanna came to her, taking Annika by the shoulders, pulling -- the woman obeyed, rising to her feet, but then Deanna guided her over and settled her on the couch next to Picard. The last thing Janeway had expected her to do. But Deanna had brought them this far. 

"She was six years old," Deanna said, looking at Picard. "No ability to process the experience. She likely blames herself."

"I do not," Annika exclaimed, the anger breaking through her tears. "I was a child."

"She's not talking about you blaming yourself now," Picard said, still calm and reassuring. "She's saying that the child you were had no way of understanding the situation, and children at that stage of development typically blame themselves when terrible things happen to them, or their parents. How did your child self feel when her parents were assimilated?"

A horrible expression Janeway had never seen on anyone took over Annika's face -- her mouth wide, her eyes wide, she began to scream and wail as if it were happening in front of her again. Annika jerked away from Deanna when she attempted to put her arms around her, falling right into Picard's arms. And that was where he held her, as she fought to break free ineffectually and the screams became body-wrenching sobs. She began to kick as if she were a toddler throwing a tantrum. Or, perhaps, a six-year-old trying to escape a Borg drone.

And now Janeway noticed Picard's face -- what a terrible expression he had as he stared at Deanna, as he held the struggling Annika tightly. What was driving that despair? It couldn't have been Annika's outburst. Deanna had shifted, rising to avoid thrashing feet and leaning on her knee on the couch, facing them, ready to intervene if she had to, but as Annika's sobs dwindled Deanna sat back to watch. Tears rained down Deanna's cheeks unchecked, but her face was surprisingly composed in a neutral expression that said she was paying rapt attention, waiting, concerned, but detached.

Janeway waited as well, hands in her lap. Finally, Annika sat up, pulling free of Picard, jerking her arms back and sitting awkwardly on the edge of the couch. Deanna was there offering a handkerchief and putting a hand on her shoulder -- then she raised that hand to smooth stray strands of blond hair back from Annika's face, pressed her palm along Annika's temple -- Annika's eyes widened slightly as she looked at Deanna.

"How do you feel?" Deanna said quietly. 

"I am not certain." The stilted and almost computer-like quality that Annika had lost for a while was back. Her red face and swollen eyes, the disheveled hair -- Janeway had never seen her this way. "But -- I feel very different."

"I helped you a little, telepathically," Deanna said. "Made that particular memory less disturbing to you. You may want to go to sickbay for the night -- I suspect you will have nightmares without a tranquilizer. I'd prefer if you had a night's rest before we talk more about this. I wasn't expecting you to make the modification immediately, Annika. I didn't want it to be so overwhelming, and I hope you don't think it will continue to be that way, when we talk about your past -- we'll help you. The emotions won't always be so intense. You'll be able to control and experience them without difficulty, in time."

"Thank you," Annika replied. She glanced at Picard then. Stared. "I -- "

Picard stared back. He didn't seem too disturbed by what had just happened, any more. He seemed to be trying not to show any feelings at all. 

"I -- " Annika started to cry again. "I am so sorry," she said brokenly. "It must have been -- you -- "

Amazingly, Picard became even more calm, his eyes half-lidded. "It was not your fault."

"No," Annika exclaimed. Her voice warned that tears were imminent. "But it was -- horrible. The pain. Removing the implants was worse than the assimilation." That statement brought Janeway up straighter.

"Troi to sickbay," Deanna said as Annika continued to talk. "Please send someone to the captain's quarters."

"When you told me I didn't understand you were right -- I -- I was cruel," she cried, on the verge of another meltdown.

"Annika!" Picard shouted. 

It was as though he knew exactly how to say it -- firm, not angry -- to rein in the emotional outburst in progress. She inhaled audibly.

"How would you calculate an intermix formula to improve the efficiency of the warp drive by fifteen percent?"

A moment passed -- and Annika stopped gaping and started to talk, becoming calmer as she described calculating intermix ratios. By the time Dr. Spaulding arrived, she still had a red face but was composed and rational. Deanna explained the situation and asked him to escort the young woman to sickbay. At her suggestion the doctor opened the medkit he'd brought and gave Annika a mild sedative. The former Borg glanced nervously at Janeway, and upon seeing Janeway's warm smile, responded in kind -- only unlike the times Seven of Nine had attempted to smile at her, this smile reached the young woman's blue eyes, lighting her face with genuine feeling.

Annika glanced at Troi and Picard, still smiling, and nodded before turning to follow Spaulding from the room.

Janeway stood in silence for a few minutes with them. Then Deanna slid along the couch toward Picard, and delivered a swift smack to the back of his head. He bore it with a wince, and looked quite chagrined.

"Jean-Luc!" she exclaimed -- shouted, actually, but more intense than loud. "You know better than to ask such a question -- triggering flashbacks before she was able to process any of it!"

"I'm sorry," he said. "I clearly wasn't thinking when I said it." The genuine penitence added another shock to an hour of surprise after surprise -- Janeway had been thinking of her own experiences with Seven of Nine, the frustration and helplessness she'd felt that she couldn't help the Borg have the positive feelings she knew Seven was capable of, and Deanna's anger and Picard's regret were not what she expected after what had looked so much like actual progress.

Deanna deflated quite a bit, but was still angry. "She is not literally six, but you still can't expect her to have the ability to access those emotions and tolerate them yet." A pause, while Deanna took a deep breath, and exhaled. Calming herself quite deliberately. That her attempt to calm down was so obvious spoke to how upset she'd been. "You reacted well enough. She needed to be held."

Picard allowed a faint smile, as he looked at her. "I do have some vague memories of how to handle a six-year-old having a major meltdown. I know the difference between a flashback and a meltdown, but the end result was in practice quite similar."

Deanna mirrored his smile. "How are you?"

He let his head fall back against the couch. "Not sure. It's clearer to me all the time, how much I owe you -- if that was anything like what I put you through -- "

"I was doing my job," Deanna said, her voice full of residual anger and pain, and scolding. "You know better than to go back to pretending you could have prevented anything."

"I'm sorry I brought her back and made you go through this again," he said quietly, holding out an arm. As Deanna leaned, accepting his touch, he looked at Janeway. "You, on the other hand -- this was perhaps what you were unable to do, before."

"I'm not sure I ever wanted, or expected, that. Was it...."

"It was worse," Picard whispered. "I was much worse."

"That wasn't what I meant. I would never presume to ask what you went through, Jean-Luc. I was going to ask if it was typical for someone to go through that sort of thing as they recover from assimilation, but realized that you wouldn't necessarily know, having such a small sample set to generalize from." Janeway let out a sigh, realizing that she had barely breathed throughout the whole ordeal. "Poor Annika... I feel so badly that I've been so inadequate in helping her through this."

"I would say you've done quite well," Deanna said wearily. "I don't think I would have wanted to do that immediately after the implants were removed, with her. I wouldn't have handled Captain Picard's recovery the way I did either, if not for the circumstances -- Jean-Luc's recovery would have been easier had we had more time, but I knew he would have been even more depressed had I simply put him on extended disability to give him the time he really needed. He refused to continue treatment with me as it was."

"Stupid," Picard said.

Deanna groaned. "Will you please stop saying that?" she pleaded, rolling her eyes. "Have a little mercy on your less evolved self?"

"I took him to task for that as well," Janeway said.

"You did?" Picard replied. "It must have been when I was being dense. I don't remember that."

"It sounded like curiosity, I'm sure, but it's what she tried to do, I would suppose. You might not have noticed -- she likely wasn't holding a weapon." 

Janeway chuckled, recognizing that they were drawing her into the middle of one of their typical bickering sessions. "Could you let me know when you meet with Annika tomorrow? I'd like to help her, not that I'm sure how, but it seemed to me she could use the support now that the issue I wasn't aware of is being addressed?"

Deanna nodded. "I'll call you in the morning. Good night."

Janeway left them and went to her quarters. Chakotay waited for her, of course -- changed out of his uniform, in sweats and a short-sleeved shirt, shoeless. She joined him on the couch and put her feet up next to his on the coffee table. 

"How's Annika?" he asked.

She groaned and sank into a slump, closing her eyes. "Where do I start? The problem we overlooked, watching her decompensate after she jumped the gun on implementing the solution, watching Picard have to deal with watching her re-experience what he experienced -- good God, Chakotay. The man had to relive trauma inflicted by the recovery from the trauma of assimilation, and then he relived the trauma of realizing he'd traumatized the officer who'd helped him through that original trauma, and apologized for bringing home another former Borg to traumatize her again -- what the hell have _I_ got to complain about?"

Unexpectedly, he laughed -- she laughed with him, for a moment. "It sounds like my instinct for self preservation is intact. You seem traumatized by watching recursive trauma in action."

Janeway laughed with him, again, and was grateful for it. As they started getting ready for bed, she thought about it and started to laugh again.

"What?" Chakotay asked, sitting on the right side of the bed, which she'd started thinking of as his side.

Sighing, she lost the smile, less amused as she thought it through. "I was actually imagining how I would go about asking Deanna to process the trauma of watching them traumatize each other, as they talked about their trauma again, while dealing with Annika's trauma. But then it occurs to me that we're all masters of morbid humor, because none of it is really that funny."

"True." Chakotay considered it a moment. "If I try to put myself in the shoes of someone who's never left Earth, and start to think about the experience of being assimilated, it's a lot different. A horror story."

"I'm going to try to help Annika through this. It was terrible, Chakotay." She frowned at herself as she thought about the way Annika had screamed. 

"Don't feel guilty because you used humor to help yourself recover," he said softly.

"Thanks for the permission -- I'm bad at letting myself off the hook." Giving him a tired smile, she turned for the bathroom as she pulled the pins from her hair. Tomorrow would be soon enough to confront it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things in this chapter exist out of frustration with the source material (aka canon). 1) they find and implement solutions with the greatest of ease, without unintended consequences, all. The. Time. 2) the crew members who implement them often do so outside their realm of expertise, and then, inconsistently, for no reason, some procedures become infinitely complicated and require entire teams of experts. Case in point - Picard's heart replacement/upgrade required a visit to a star base and a whole bunch of doctors. Yet an EMH was able to restore Janeway from a super-evolved salamander state without a hitch?
> 
> No one could expect Picard to sit around doing nothing during convalescence, surely.
> 
> Possibly the last update until after Christmas. Happy holidays, merry Christmas. I am edging ever closer to launching Voyager back on course and letting the time loop resolve.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!

Deanna had fallen silent, once they entered the bedroom. She waited while he got in bed, and then Picard watched her as she took off the uniform and carried one of his old shirts with her into the bathroom. 

She returned with her hair in a long braid hanging down her left shoulder and the shirt hanging loosely on her, bare-legged and giving him an irritated look as she lifted the covers. 

"You have every right to be angry. I should have kept myself quiet -- "

"Jean, please. Please." 

Her quiet, patient manner only made it worse. He closed his eyes, missing her -- she had shut him out completely and he knew it was intended to protect him, especially now that they had been through Annika's self-inflicted flashbacks. And then Mengis had dropped in just moments after Janeway left, to make the stern, tight-lipped pronouncement that any more 'shenanigans' and he'd resort to full restraints and anesthesia. Picard was surprised the doctor hadn't shown up sooner, or that Spaulding hadn't dragged him away along with Annika, but apparently the readings hadn't been high enough to trigger an actual alarm, just enough to be concerning when Mengis did an hourly check-in with sickbay staff. 

Deanna asked the computer to put out the lights, and after a few moments of starlight and silence, he heard her sigh almost inaudibly.

It was not the evening he had wanted, when he'd requested Beverly's babysitting services. While he'd not expected much more than a game of chess and cuddling, that would have been ever so much more preferable than realizing all over again how awful it had been for her trying to convince him to return to being human after the Borg, and seeing her react to Annika that way triggered the guilt. 

The mattress shifted, the covers moved, and her arm across his chest and her head on his shoulder reassured him somewhat. 

"If we did go on vacation, after all this is done," he began.

"If?"

"When we go on vacation," he amended. "Leaving the kids at your mother's, I think. Where should we go?"

"Somewhere where there is no chance of being caught up in some adventure, or stabbed, or enlisted to help anyone."

"That leaves out Risa. Not Betazed, not Rigel, not anywhere there's anyone we know.... I suppose locking ourselves in a shuttle with disabled communications for four weeks is out of the question?"

"How about just going back to Labarre, and spending the days riding, sleeping, reading and doing anything else we feel like doing?"

"Anything? Painting? Pottery?"

"Do you mean making it, or digging it up?"

"I suppose it could go either way. I could bring my flute. You could bring your swimsuit."

Finally, a smile. He could feel her cheek moving against his shoulder. "The one I don't use? Aren't you supposed to avoid thinking about things that excite you?"

"I suppose I should have stayed in sickbay."

"No need to regret at this point. You should get some sleep."

"I've been sleeping on and off all day, despite having children around. Beverly was reading one of her medical journals to Miral for a while. It didn't work for her, but it did for me."

"The soporific qualities of describing treatments of masochistic officers?"

"Something about aneurysms."

"Hmm."

He let his hand creep up her back, until it reached the back of her neck. With his thumb and forefinger, he pressed along the base of her skull, slowly rubbing inward until he had his thumb in the depression at the top of her spine. She hummed again while he applied pressure.

"You're good for me," she mumbled. "I don't care what anyone says about you. You're fine as you are."

The unexpected tease caught him off guard. He chuckled at it. "I've thought the same about you."

"We never got around to my birthday gift. I suppose we won't, for a while."

"Perhaps I will have energy enough tomorrow."

"Does it involve anything on the list?"

Another chuckle. "I'll talk to the doctor first and have him give me a mild sedative if he thinks that's appropriate. It doesn't involve anything explicitly on the list." It did, as originally planned, but there would be enough of a surprise without sexual favors being exchanged.

She sighed. He thought she might fall asleep, but he could tell just from the level of tension in her body, as she lay alongside with her arm across him, that she wasn't. 

"I hope by the time I'm cleared for duty that you're less angry at me."

She raised her head, going so far as to push herself up and hover over him. As if they could see each other in the dark. "Jean."

"I didn't say I believed it would happen."

"It's not so much at you. I'm actually proud of you."

"You are?"

She was, he thought, about to swoop in and kiss him, but she checked herself and lay down again, this time pressing herself against him, nose against his when he turned his head toward her. "You were caught up in helping Annika, to the point that you made a mistake. You spent time today thinking about what might help her and subjected yourself to your own experiences with recovery to do it. I lost my temper, but I reacted as a frustrated treating psychologist -- you aren't a psychologist. It was a perfectly understandable mistake for you to make. However many sessions you had as a client, it is completely unreasonable to expect you to recognize when to ask such a question, and when not to."

"Oh." Mentioning that he'd known the instant he'd asked it that it would be a mistake would become yet another mistake. That could wait until a later conversation.

"You shouldn't feel guilty about it, any more than you should feel guilty about the stress I went through, treating your trauma."

"Perhaps it's more that you seem to still be sensitive to it -- you get angry when it's brought up. It's not pleasant to talk about the Borg, but it's not made me angry in a long time. I might have been more receptive to talking to Annika in the first place, had I not been so far separated from you and with my moping subroutines in full effect."

She flinched, bodily. Rolling away on her back, she moaned.

"Masochistic introspection," he said, humor in his tone. "We haven't talked about the Borg other than in a tactical sense in a long time. I hadn't really been so aware of the changes myself -- and you're not my counselor any longer, nor do we have the time under normal circumstances to review old wounds."

"And we haven't actually sat down to talk at any length about Annika and how to handle her," she said. "I'm sorry."

"As you said, it's not really duty related, for you. You're not necessarily required to follow protocol with her. And it's a reminder that you aren't just a first officer -- I keep dropping more responsibility on you, because you've made it look so effortless. I focus on the mission, you keep all the departments coordinated, lead away teams, file reports, teach cadet classes, martial arts, and visit the school -- and to think you were worried about your ability to handle the job, before Yves was born. So I leave you with the Klane, and Janeway, without a thought -- and you don't even bother to protest the extra responsibility, just berate me about abandoning the mission. I have this feeling that I've developed unreasonable expectations, and I don't want to do that to you."

A few moments of silence. Almost unbearable -- she was still closed to him. 

"So what are we going to do with Annika next?"

Another moan.

"Dee? Are you all right?"

"No."

He winced. There were tears behind that word. {Come on, let me in, Dee.}

The floodgates opened. Pain washed over him -- grief. Guilt. He reached for her, rolling toward her, then pulling her over and ignoring the pressure it put on his chest -- she tried to pull back but he gripped her arm, hard, probably bruising her as he matched her effort. She stopped struggling, so he loosened his fingers.

"I won't let you make my mistake, of shutting down and holding it in. Talk to me," he said softly, making sure to focus, center himself, project calm.

He felt her take a deep breath, her ribs pushing against his. Her chest against his, she lay diagonally across him and turned her head. Her breath tickled his ear and her braid fell off her right shoulder and the ends tickled his bicep. Her hand caressed his face along his jaw. 

"Your chest," she breathed.

"You know better than to think a little pain will keep me from this. I'm your husband. Tell me. I'm your captain. Tell me." Since he wasn't sure what it was about, it seemed better to cover both bases.

"It's just -- everything. I can compartmentalize to a point, but trying to help the children understand what happened to you broke me." The strain distorted her voice to a parody of her usual melodic tone. "Especially Yves. He nearly strangled me trying to hug it away."

"Relax." Wrapping his arms around her, he waited until she lost the stiffness, and then waited again while she cried quietly for a while. The tears were quickly followed by sniffles, and as he felt her turmoil ease, he "reached" and focused and the bond intensified into the flames of heart fire. 

The sound of the door opening interrupted and shook them out of their trance -- Picard opened his eyes to find that the lights had come up, and Dr. Mengis stood over him with a tricorder, glaring down at him. 

"Go away," Picard exclaimed.

Mengis reached over them, plucking the monitor from the covers, and held it up. "Don't knock it off and make us think you're dying, then. And Deanna, you should get off the wound -- let me check it. I have to make sure you didn't tear it open again."

Deanna rolled away, getting out of bed, heading for the bathroom. After the doctor reassured himself all was well and delivered another warning, Mengis left, herding two ensigns ahead of him -- one of them had brought a stretcher and the other had one of the more inclusive medkits in his arms. Picard touched his neck; Mengis hadn't put the monitor back. So he had to be doing well -- the doctor would have hauled him to sickbay anyway, had it not been so.

Deanna returned with a hypo in hand. They kept a small supply of sedatives on hand, though they did their best not to need them. "Do you need one?"

"Not if you feel better."

She was exhausted; it came to him clearly, now that she wasn't trying to protect him from it. She climbed in next to him and lay on her side facing away from him, letting him tuck his arm around her waist and spoon with her. Having the back of her head against his chin and her firm, warm body against him was what he needed to relax completely.

Picard woke first -- he took stock before moving and risking waking her up. All was quiet. The computer hadn't sounded the alarm. A digital readout on the nightstand told him they'd overslept their normal wake time by about two and a half hours. He felt almost normal until he moved his arm, slipping his hand up Deanna's abdomen to cup a breast and pull her against his chest. The slight pressure made the healing wound on his chest started to throb. 

It was enough to begin the process of waking her up. When she was exhausted, she would turn into a grumpy, growling, petulant version of herself in the morning. She tensed, curling up tightly with her knees almost to her chest. "No," she complained blearily.

"Shh. Go back to sleep."

"Hmmm?"

When he didn't answer, she did fall asleep, telling him volumes about the toll yesterday had taken on her. He extricated himself and tucked her in again, and headed for a sonic shower. Regardless of what she didn't have to do, he had a sickbay visit to get out of the way. 

He made it to sickbay by nine hundred hours, and Mengis seemed in a better mood than last night. Glancing at Annika on the middle biobed, seemingly asleep, Picard sat on the next one, waiting as Mengis prepared to run the familiar regeneration series -- he entered a series of commands on the panel then turned to scan with a tricorder prior to directing Picard to lie back. Mengis closed the wings of the regenerator over his chest and began the sequence.

"How is Miss Hansen?" Picard murmured. The familiar tingling in the bone started, slowly building to a faint sensation of burning. He grimaced.

Mengis adjusted something -- Picard heard the soft sound of fingertips on the panel -- and the burning lessened. "Still sedated. We attempted a milder sedative, but she awakened early, screaming."

"Welcome to post-assimilation panic attacks."

Mengis' green eyes met his, sympathy showing in them. "I understood she had been had been recovered from the Borg quite some time ago."

"Trauma inhibited by implants knows no calendar."

"You should have brought her in before altering the implant."

"Oh, we intended to -- but apparently she trusts Deanna to the point that she'll jump to it without hesitating."

Mengis glanced at the panel at the head of Annika's bed. He stepped over and took a closer look, and put a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Hansen?"

Picard watched her sit up out of the corner of his eye as the regenerator hummed. "How are you feeling today?"

Annika's eyelids were swollen, her face pale and her eyes barely open -- evidently she was not a morning person, either. "Better. Should I feel this tired?" 

"Oh, yes, indeed," Picard sighed. "Processing trauma is hard work. But you have an expert to help you."

Mengis stood back as Annika stood and took a step -- and then she was standing over him, putting a hand over his. "I appreciate your help."

"I was referring to my wife." He made the comment as soft and non-accusatory as he could, but couldn't help being irritated by her fingers on the back of his hand. But perhaps she didn't know better. "Please remove your hand."

She pulled away. "I'm sorry," she said in a small voice that reminded him of Cordelia at her most penitent. 

"Troi to Hansen," came the predictable summons. She'd obviously awakened and sensed Annika's distress. The end result -- Annika left sickbay to meet with Deanna, and left him to an undisturbed last half an hour of regeneration.

When he sat up, the soreness in the bone had gone. Mengis ran more scans. "The new heart is working well. You should only need one more session -- the bone is knitting well, despite your continued efforts to counter treatment."

"I have priorities," he exclaimed.

Mengis nodded, regarding him with a less irritable expression than before. "I realize. It was why I allowed you to go home at all. That and you stay awake all night complaining to my staff about trivialities to vent your frustration that you aren't home."

"Dee's not doing well, Greg."

"And of course, you think you're to blame for that."

"I feel that way. But I know better. I couldn't expect her to not do what she's doing -- most of it is duty related, after all."

"Still thinking about taking that promotion?" Mengis set aside the tricorder. 

"At the moment we have too much going on -- we'll talk about it after all this is over with. Has the list of prohibitions shortened yet?"

"How do you feel?"

Picard took a brief inventory, rolling his left shoulder, then his right, raise his arms over his head, and sighed. "There's a little stiffness, no pain."

"Moderate, not strenuous, exercise. No weight lifting. Think yoga of the more relaxing variety. Walking, not running."

"There goes chasing the kids."

"Or naked Betazoids," Mengis said blandly. "You'll probably be back to normal in a week. But play it safe for everyone's sake. You gave the heart a stress test last night, and it apparently does the job without issues, so I put the monitor away."

Picard left sickbay smiling. He greeted crew here and there on the way back to deck eight. Back in quarters, he was surprised to find them empty. 

"Computer, location of Commander Troi."

"Commander Troi is on deck eight, section ten, room eight. Quarters assigned to Annika Hansen."

Picard sighed. So much for a leisurely breakfast with his wife, with the added possibility of a birthday present. He replicated the usual coffee and a variety of baked goods. He settled in, legs crossed, enjoying the moment as much as he could. 

When Deanna came back, she was out of uniform, as he was, in a teal cowl-necked sweater and gray slacks. "What did Greg say?"

"Moderate exercise. No chasing naked Betazoids."

Her amused smile reassured him that she'd navigated from cranky to fully awake. "What if I wear clothing?"

"Ah, a loophole -- clever woman. Come, sit, caffeinate."

As she took a croissant and settled next to him, the annunciator went off. "Janeway," she said, before calling to admit her.

The captain looked ready to head for her ship. She'd even reverted to her old uniform, red shoulders and all. Her hair was clipped back at the nape. When she came in she was smiling brightly. "Good morning. I'm glad you're feeling better, Jean-Luc."

"Would you like coffee? Croissant?"

Janeway pulled one of the chairs away from the dining table to sit across the coffee table from them, and took the offered croissant. "I just finished that class you asked me to cover for you, Deanna -- we had quite a spirited discussion today."

Picard looked at Deanna, and found her looking at him. She wasn't what he could call happy. Not angry, not sad, just not happy. "What was the discussion about?" he asked, turning back to Janeway.

"We covered the old debate between principles and following orders. I even gave them one of my own thinly-disguised scenarios to chew on for a while." She nipped a horn off the croissant and accepted a cup of coffee Picard had poured for her. "Your boy Jacoby gave such a textbook answer I thought he might have regulations memorized. Raun, on the other hand, had a lot to offer. A few questions, some good conjecture. His solution turned out to be pretty close to what I actually did."

"Raun is on my short list of potentials. He's got some skill with computers." Deanna didn't sound very enthusiastic. She was as tired of mediocrity as he was.

Picard took the last bite of his scone, washed it down with coffee, and put the cup aside. Janeway continued to tell Deanna about the class, and it reminded him of conversations with Data, when Deanna had been putting herself through trainings. 

"Jean-Luc, really, what are you thinking about now?" Janeway asked. "That expression."

Deanna smiled faintly at him when he looked up from his brown study. She, of course, knew what was behind his facial expression. "He gets that way when he's thinking about me -- when I was trying to stop feeling like I was pretending to be command track."

"What are you talking about?"

"She went through the trainings we were conducting for cadets. It was hard for her -- already a commander but surrounded by cadets who in some cases knew more about the subject matter than she did. She wouldn't let me help her."

Janeway's incredulous stare made Dee uncomfortable; she dropped her gaze and shook her head a little. 

"She doesn't like to think about it." Picard brushed her hair, which she'd left down around her face, back behind her ear. "I suppose I could do a few of your favorite impersonations to make you smile again?"

Her head tilted, and her eyes glinted -- it was that affectionate expression that had appeared every time things went casual, classic Troi, a constant on long shuttle rides, or on afternoons while the _Enterprise_ was in transit to the next mission and there were opportunities to play poker, visit a holodeck, or simply reminisce. She glowed at him, had always done so as far back as he could remember. That affection for him had puzzled him at times over the years. He knew better than to think it had anything to do with falling in love with him -- she hadn't done that until much later, and that had resulted in her increasing absence from the bridge, not more smiling.

"I can tell what you're thinking," she said, in that same gentle way she always did. Prodding him away from that masochistic introspection pattern he'd been exhibiting.

"Is it as boring as it usually is?" He smirked at her, almost wishing Janeway wasn't there.

"That's what it was," Deanna exclaimed, sitting up a little straighter. She seemed a bit excited as if she'd discovered something.

He did a double take at the non sequitur. He glanced at Janeway -- she was just as puzzled. "What?"

"You asked me a long time ago, when it was that I fell for you. You reminded me of it, just now, smiling at me that way. We were in the ready room, you were telling me about... well, it was something to do with the Soralis system, some ruin where they'd excavated some fantastic artifact you were excited about."

He smirked again at the memory as she was sharing it in her thoughts in addition to the verbal description. "You fell asleep. Of course you don't remember what they excavated."

"When I woke up, he wasn't in his chair behind the desk any more," Deanna said, explaining to Janeway. "I was so embarrassed. I thought he'd left the room. I was about to get up and leave and he touched my arm -- he'd come around to sit in the chair next to me and he was trying to see if I was all right. I almost jumped out of my chair -- he scared me."

"It was such unusual behavior. I'd bored you so often before, but you'd never dozed off like that. I said your name and you didn't awaken. I thought there might be something wrong."

She laughed, shaking her head. "While I recovered from being scared, you laughed at me without laughing. You do that a lot. You told me exactly the same thing you just said, that I'd never gone to sleep during any of your boring lectures, knowing quite well I would sense the lie. You knew you hadn't bored me. You had that silly grin. We've talked about so many things over the years, I've never been put to sleep. I fell asleep because I hadn't slept well the night before."

"It's not exactly the stuff of romance novels, you know. Falling for me because I'm not boring."

"Why should it be? I've never liked romance novels."

"What's wrong with a good romance?" Janeway asked. 

"Nothing," Picard said. He considered mentioning the time Deanna had tried to create one for them, on the holodeck, and immediately discarded the idea. "Deanna has her own idea of romance. The fictional kind generally doesn't appeal to her."

"Does it appeal to you?" Leave it to Janeway to ask the question.

"I enjoy several genres of fiction, but not that one."

"Does this represent a big difference between Betazed and Earth? I've known Betazoids, but comparing forms of literature hasn't come up in conversation." Janeway actually seemed interested in this tangent.

"No, there are plenty of love stories in Betazoid literature. One of the more traditional stories, a legend, resembles ours, in fact." Deanna gave him a fond glance. "I suspect though that he is more pragmatic than to believe any such story is more than coincidental."

"I'd guess Betazoid romances are quite different. So many of the ones written on Earth depended on the unknown -- telepathy would ruin Jane Austen, or the works of the Brontes." Janeway fortunately was caught up in what she was saying, and didn't notice the subtle shift in Deanna's expression when she mentioned the Brontes. 

"Fictional romances have nothing to offer me," Deanna said. She gazed at Picard warmly. "What a woman really needs is someone who respects her -- you've never been condescending to me. You've never been dismissive of me because I'm a woman, or a counselor, or a subordinate, or younger -- I've been treated as unimportant so many times because of one or all of those things." 

Picard noticed that Janeway had sobered. He stayed focused on Deanna, blinking, leaning back on the couch. Her eyes flicked toward Janeway briefly. Things were too serious. "So you fell for me in a moment not unlike any other, for reasons that pass all understanding. Because respect is hardly a difficult thing to find."

Deanna sighed heavily. "It was probably also the smile. Most likely the smile."

"When is it ever not the smile," Janeway said, looking as though she had to really work at not laughing.

Deanna's version of the expression was much more subtle. Her dark eyes flitted to their guest and back up to his face, and the corners of her mouth crept upward. "The smile, and your voice...."

"Ah, yes -- don't the romance novels have heroes with a voice like silk, or velvet, or some other exotic thrilling quality that stirs the heart?"

Her smile wavered. Wrong thing to say, Picard, he chided himself. Though he wasn't sure why.

"I came by to make sure you were all right," Janeway said, apparently wanting to change the topic as well. "And to let you know how class went, and to find out when we were meeting with Annika today."

"I saw her after her discharge from sickbay. She's still a bit shaken up but stable." Deanna gave him a knowing look that said she wasn't going into any detail. "I told her we would meet with her after lunch."

"Good. I have a senior staff meeting in a few minutes. We're going over the lists you gave me, discussing crew changes, and updating the list of crew who won't go with us, such as Mr. Suder."

Deanna responded to Picard's curiosity with an explanation. "I went with Kes and Tuvok to see Suder -- we had a discussion about his lack of telepathy, and how that came about, and tried to help him. It wasn't successful in giving him telepathy, but it was revealing -- he didn't know why, and now we know that there is a defect present that may respond to a neurosurgeon's efforts. I offered him a cabin and a ride back to Betazed, and a referral to Dr. Belman. He's considering it."

"Good." It sounded like Deanna had that matter under control. He turned to Janeway again. "You have a lot to do before we're done repairing _Voyager_ , Kathryn."

Janeway nodded, joy putting a brilliant smile on her face. "Glendenning's engineer said we have a few more weeks of repairs to do. We'll have to spend another week once everything's put together, to calibrate and run tests before bringing the warp drive online. There's plenty of time for administrative tasks. But I also hope to help you help Annika, as much as I can."

Picard nodded, understanding the other captain's desire to continue mentoring her charge. "Of course."

"I'm going to a meeting with my senior staff. I'll see you later." With a warm parting smile, Janeway strode from their quarters.

Deanna seemed to be deep in thought, gazing at nothing. Picard thought again about the incident she'd remembered. He reached over and took her right hand from her lap, bringing it to his lips. She turned her head, smiling.

"Was that really the moment you fell for me?" he asked. "How strange, that it took you so many years to remember it."

She let her head tip back against the couch, sighed, and rolled her eyes, then closed them. "It was the first time that your smile made my heart stop. It was the first time your voice... oh, your voice made me melt inside. Afterward, when you tried to calm me down and apologize, and we sat there talking about something else. You were still feeling a little guilt about startling me that way. You didn't want to let me leave without being sure I was all right. You were speaking so -- so -- "

"Really?"

"Haven't you ever heard a voice that affected you that way? Made you feel aroused just listening to it?" When he didn't have the words, she sat up straighter and looked at him with an incredulous frown. "Never?"

"Well... there was a woman -- when I was a second year cadet, we went to this bar, there was a singer whose voice -- "

"That's not what I meant."

"When you talk to me, when we're.... Otherwise, no."

"Jean-Luc...." She had a bemused expression. "Has no one ever told you how your voice can be so arousing?"

"What?" he scoffed, half-laughing. "Of course not!"

Now her mouth had that sly slant she sometimes got when teasing someone. It had often been Will, sometimes Beverly, only occasionally him until they'd gotten together. "I don't know if I should tell you...."

"You're just teasing me. No need to go any further."

She went absolutely serious. After a moment of staring, she said, "Now that I'm thinking about it, I'm not surprised you don't know. I suspect you would stop talking to anyone who told you."

"Dee," he warned.

"Maybe it's just me. I suppose it's entirely possible -- I mean, it's not as if I didn't think you were attractive, before -- I've always thought so. And -- oh, Jean, are you blushing?"

"I don't blush."

"I suppose not. Of course you don't," she said mildly, morphing into Counselor Troi. Mellow, reassuring, smiling sweetly. "And now that I think about it -- I'm pretty sure it was just me who felt tingly and warm whenever you smiled and spoke in low, husky tones about...."

He scowled, until she went silent. Realized she didn't know -- she thought he was still under the strict, no-adrenalin-allowed order to relax. "Deanna, did you really find my voice so appealing as you say?" He intentionally used a lower pitch and richer timbre than usual.

She burst into unrestrained laughter, her head falling back again, and he laughed with her -- more in happiness than in amusement. He loved to hear her laugh without restraint. She subsided and looked at him, wiping away happy tears. 

"Oh, my," she gasped. "You terrible man."

"If it's so sexy," he growled, "then why are you still so far away from me?"

Giggling, Deanna glanced at his chest, raised an eyebrow, and raised herself off the couch just enough to turn and settle astride his lap. She ran a hand down the front of the white shirt, undoing buttons. Then her fingers traced the red line down his sternum. 

"Come here," he murmured. He put a finger through the two dangling necklaces that fell out of the loose collar of the sweater; the dainty silver swan pendant dangled with the swan and fish medallion and the two swung together between them. Deanna slid her hands up his chest, to the back of his neck, and she came down to kiss him experimentally. When he didn't warn her off she deepened the kiss.

His hands crept up under her sweater. My, how much he liked loose-fitting clothing -- so much easier to get to his wife while she wore it. His thumb swept across that one scar that ran from her navel to her back, almost parallel to her floating ribs. He intentionally put aside the memory of how she obtained it, why it was there, and refocused on kissing her, his tongue sliding along hers as waves of pleasure and love reverberated between them.

"We need to go to the holodeck," he mumbled as she broke away to shift into a more comfortable position. She froze and considered it.

"Do we need to take anything?"

"Oh, no. Just these." His hands found her breasts, sliding up beneath her bra.

"I go through more bras." She dismounted, pulling up her sweater to pull it back in place. "Thank goodness for replicators."

He kept his hands to himself until they entered the holodeck. He keyed in the desired program manually and while she waited on the grid the floor shifted beneath her feet, the walls and ceilings changed, and she glanced around, curious.

"This is -- it looks like nothing I've ever seen before. Where are we?"

"Zanzibar. Happy anniversary." The birthday present could wait -- next week, he would be off restriction and able to do what he'd wanted to do. This would be adequate for his purposes today. 

The blink, the gape, the stare -- he'd managed to shock her again. She turned slowly and studied the city at their feet. In the simulation, they stood on a hill overlooking the re-creation of the ruined city that Gary and his team had been working on for years. The environment dome and raging windstorm outside had been replaced in the simulation by a blue sky.

"Gary sent me this -- they've had more help since we left, obviously. There's been enough dirt removed that they could project what it looked like before the planet became the inhospitable place it is today. There's a blast crater -- they hypothesize that the reactor that powered the city had a critical incident and destroyed the atmosphere of the planet. The dig is being sponsored by the Vulcans and the Romulans jointly, now."

Their efforts to assist the creation of the treaty with the Romulans, their presence at the very beginning of the dig, brought levels of meaning to the simulation -- not to mention it had been the place he'd proposed to her. When she turned back to him she beamed at him, happy tears on her cheeks. And then she noticed the item in his extended hand.

"They're diamonds from Zanzibar, probably formed when the explosion occurred. I had them faceted and set in platinum."

"Jean-Luc," she said with a sigh. Her eyes held all the stars he'd wanted to see in them.   
"This...." She took the circlet of tiny twinkling stones and held it up. 

"It's for the Festival. I hope the largest stone doesn't get too annoying while you're dancing."

She carefully pulled apart the ends and slid it around her head, into her hair, and the elaborate collection of stones rested between her eyes with two large teardrops dangling down either side of her nose and one resting between the eyes, just at the beginning of the bridge. 

"I can see that this will be quite distracting -- and not traditional at all."

"You're not a traditional Betazoid."

"I love it, thank you," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. {I love you, Jean. I would have never suspected -- what a wonderful surprise.}

"The door you found while we were at the dig is over there. I haven't explored the city yet."

She clung to him, letting her happiness and love wash over him like a warm blanket, and he held her for as long as she was willing to stand there. 

"We've come a long way from Zanzibar," she said, finally, slowly, stepping back. She took his hand. "Is it all there, everything they've found? We can really walk around the entire city?"

"Oh, yes. There's more still being uncovered, but this is as complete a projection as Gary had, as of four months ago when he sent it to me. They expect to create a museum of sorts -- this will be a program used as one of the displays."

Deanna looked out at the spires and gleaming windows, and he sensed the shift of emotion just as her eyes widened slightly. She turned to look at him, her expression taking on an element of 'why didn't I think of it' as she sighed.

"This is what Starfleet needs to do."

"Go to Zanzibar?" He realized what she meant as he said it. "They do -- there are endless holographic representations of other worlds. They send school children through them."

"No, they need to do _this_ \-- I've seen those holographic projections used to promote Starfleet service before. They weren't this interactive, and they didn't carry with them the sense of discovery -- I didn't have any interest at all in archeology until I met you, and then it was a mild interest at best. But this was my first actual dig. I know I'll never be truly so interested in it that I would want to be an archeologist, but seeing this after experiencing the dig adds so much to it. It makes me want to do it again. To go back to places where we made first contact, and talk to people there, and see what happened. I know that sometimes things didn't progress in positive ways after we left, but when we're always called in to fix problems, that's going to be what we remember -- the problems. I want to know what the positive changes were, now."

"You think Starfleet should market to people who want to make a difference instead of have an adventure. I think they already do that."

"Not in a way this tactile, this visual -- they talk about it. They should let people see it -- and hear it from the people we've helped. Let officers speak about their lives changing, instead of having them talk about what they've done in battle. They aren't doing testimonials well enough, now. I think it would help. I'm going to show this to Kathryn and explain it to her."

"So when she gets back to the Alpha Quadrant -- "

" -- the problem with cadets like Jacoby disappears. We get more motivated cadets than we have now."

Picard started down the hill toward the nearest building. "And then they try to recruit you into public relations."

"They can try." Deanna gave him the smile she reserved for private moments like this -- the one that made him feel like she might be about to pounce and start tearing his clothes off. "I have other priorities."

"I can't chase you, but did I mention I've been cleared for moderate exercise?"

"Our priorities appear to be similar. We should test that hypothesis further."

"I concur. Perhaps we should consider exploring yoga. The doctor suggested that."

"I suppose you've heard of tantric yoga?" The question made him grin -- he'd finally given in to her ongoing suggestions that he try yoga several years before, only to find that there were ways to do it with fringe benefits that made him question why he hadn't done it sooner. Usually, he avoided the classes given in the gym, and stuck with the holodeck-based lessons that allowed him to relax, rather than feel awkward surrounded by more flexible people and exposed to members of the crew.

"Yab-yum?"

Her smile said yes, in a way that made him want to switch holodeck programs. They stopped walking -- she glanced at the building several yards away, then back to him, considering along with him. 

"Explore the city tomorrow, yoga today?"

"Make it so," he replied, putting as much velvety innuendo into the words as he could manage without cracking a smile. When she finished laughing at him, she chose a different program for them and imposed a stricter privacy lockout.

So nice, to have a telepathic wife.


	29. Chapter 29

Janeway left her staff meeting feeling almost back to normal -- just a few more weeks, and they would all be back on _Voyager_ for meetings. Tuvok joined Chakotay and Janeway walking down the corridor. Her other officers went the opposite direction, talking about upgrades in their respective departments.

"I expect I will see you for poker tonight," Tuvok said tentatively.

"Poker?" Janeway exclaimed.

Tuvok glanced at Chakotay. "Captain Glendenning informed me that senior staff have all been invited to holodeck four on the _Enterprise_. With sufficient attendance there will also be a pool table and a second card table. It seemed to me a good opportunity to network with other officers."

"So in two years you will be able to apply for a transfer to work with the captain of your choice?" Janeway asked. "And thus you want to obtain more of a sense of which would be a good choice."

"I cannot predict with any accuracy whether you will still be a captain upon your return, so it seemed prudent to keep my options open."

"He's not the first I've heard talking like this," Chakotay said, strolling along on her left toward the lift. "We have some good optimism going, I think. When people believe we have a future we're that much closer to making it happen."

"Well, you all can network -- I'm going to see if Glendenning is still too obvious with his bluffing, and whether Picard has any tells. What's happended to talent night? I thought that was tonight."

Chakotay grinned. "I talked Neelix into doing it next week. Told him it would give people more time to come up with something and get some practice."

"Excellent. I'm going to the officer's mess for lunch -- coming?"

The officer's mess was not busy -- the only diners present were the counselor, Davidson, and Annika. He waved them over to the long table and encouraged them to join them.

Annika looked relatively calm, today. Janeway got her meal at the replicator and sat next to her, smiling, and the smile she got back was genuine. She noticed Tuvok's subdued but still obvious surprise; one of his eyebrows ever-so-slightly rose.

"Are you up for a game of velocity this afternoon?" Janeway asked.

"Deanna asked me to join her at a yoga class at fifteen hundred hours. I had to research what she meant. I am -- I'm not sure that I will enjoy it."

"But I bet I know why she suggested it. I haven't done yoga in a long time. I'll go with you. Chakotay?"

He grinned and shook his head -- happy to avoid yoga, she thought. "I told some of the engineering staff that I'd join them in a football game. Evidently there's been some friendly rivalry between engineering departments, and team sports is how they'd decided to settle the matter."

Annika was looking at Tuvok. He had taken the chair next to Davidson, across from Janeway. "I intend to participate in deLio's martial arts class this afternoon. It is most challenging -- the L'norim have quick reflexes."

"I heard many of our security officers are doing that -- how is Neelix doing?" Janeway asked.

"Surprisingly well. It has led me to consider teaching martial arts on _Voyager_."

Chakotay picked up his chicken salad sandwich carefully; some of the contents were at risk of escaping. "I understand Commander Troi has a morning class three days a week -- have you attended?"

"Not yet. If you are curious about her level of skill, I am expecting her to be quite good at mok'bara -- there are those attending deLio's class who speak of her classes with some trepidation."

Tuvok and Chakotay chatted about martial arts as they all ate, and surprisingly Davidson had a few things to say on the subject. Evidently he had taken classes as well. Janeway left with Annika after finishing her soup and salad, as the men were far more involved in conversation, and they headed for the first officer's office on deck two.

Deanna was there, in uniform, and Janeway raised an eyebrow at her; there was something different about her. It surprised her when Annika commented.

"You appear quite relaxed, Deanna."

"Yes. I did an extra yoga session, this morning. I find it quite rejuvenating." 

Janeway considered a follow up comment, but thought it more prudent to not observe that yoga didn't typically lead to that much of a glow. She took a seat; there were two chairs for visitors. Annika had already taken the chair nearer the door.

"How are you, Annika?" Deanna asked.

"Better than this morning." Annika blushed and dropped her eyes. 

Deanna turned sympathetic, giving a slight nod. "Are you ready to talk about it?"

Janeway's brow furrowed in concern. Was this about Jacoby again? "Annika? Are you all right?"

"No. I feel...."

When she couldn't go on, apparently, Deanna leaned on her desk, arms crossed in front of her. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Annika's head came up. Now she was visibly upset. "But I did. I should not have touched -- It was the same. I am no better than Cadet Jacoby."

At that, Deanna fell back in her chair, shaking her head. "Oh, no. It's not the same at all."

"What did you do?" Janeway asked, unable to refrain.

"You were feeling gratitude. You touched his hand -- it's not a strange thing to do, Annika, humans touch each other's hands for all kinds of reasons. He's just not used to being touched so casually by people he doesn't know well."

Annika wasn't understanding what Deanna was trying to tell her; she continued to frown at the floor. 

"The difference between your behavior and Jacoby's is that he was seeking to gratify his sexual urges. You were not. The captain did not know that, and even if he had, he doesn't like being touched that way by someone other than family."

"How do you know what I was feeling?"

It was Deanna's turn to wrinkle her brow. "I did tell you that I'm an empath. I can sense anyone within my range."

Janeway considered this a moment. "I can see why you're confused. I haven't thought about it before, but touch is one of those things -- there are a lot of different kinds of touch. Sometimes, people don't like being touched, even in situations so many others would. I don't doubt that you've seen me touch many others since you came aboard -- but that's me. Captain Picard isn't like me. If you had tried to take my hand, I would have returned the gesture. It's not like you're thinking it is."

Annika stared at her incredulously. The frown was joined by furrows in her forehead. "This is much more complicated than the Doctor said it was."

Janeway wondered now if trusting the Doctor to help Annika had been a good thing to do. Then again, what other option had there been? They'd been short-staffed and becoming more so with every loss. Figuring out how to explain these things to her would have taken someone away from repairs, from running the ship, or the ongoing search for supplies.

"It's confusing now. It won't be, if you have patience with yourself. This is why you're here, Annika." Deanna must be channeling her counselor self; she sounded so soothing and encouraging.

"Why can I not -- why must I feel this way?" Annika blurted. "I cannot stop feeling -- whatever this is. It is frustrating that I cannot stop and be calm!"

Deanna met Janeway's gaze with a resigned expression, then turned to the task at hand -- she began to encourage Annika through a relaxation exercise. She coached and coaxed and soothed, leading them through breathing, and imagining emotions as a pool of water, smoothing the surface until it became a clear mirror of an imagined sky. At the end of it, even Janeway felt less tension. The young woman opened her eyes and stared at Deanna.

"You feel more calm and relaxed," Deanna said. "The breathing and the increased awareness of how your body reacts to tension will help you control how you feel. All feelings are biologically based, so we use biology to control them. This is why I'm wanting to help you learn yoga. It's one way to help maintain and to build awareness of your body."

Annika's gaze swept down again. 

"I know how frustrated you are. But this is something I often teach people of all backgrounds."

The icy blue eyes came up again. "Did you teach Captain Picard?"

Deanna unexpectedly grinned -- her eyes danced in amusement. "Oh, he knew some techniques, already. But he wasn't always good about using them. Starfleet captains can be a stubborn bunch."

"I would like to go to my quarters. I understand specific attire is required for yoga?"

"You can ask the computer for appropriate clothing. Something comfortable and nonrestrictive."

After Annika had gone, Janeway exhaled and slumped in her chair. "I'd feel guilty if Jean-Luc hadn't volunteered to take her in. Hell -- I just feel guilty. She isn't going to be easy, is she?"

But Deanna had a thoughtful expression. "I believe I will be able to help her, though. It's easy to see a way, now that the implant isn't inhibiting the rest of her emotions. It probably seems to you that she's going to be difficult, but I see this struggle she's having as promising."

"You think it will be easy? She thought she was unique in needing to be taught how to relax. And for the past years since we brought her aboard, she insisted she was superior, she needed no help, found our attempts annoying -- but that was all to cover the insecurity, wasn't it?" Janeway thought about Picard's comment about believing he wouldn't come back from assimilation. "She said being brought out of the Collective was worse than being assimilated -- how could that possibly be so?"

Deanna became grim, and stared somewhere over Janeway's left shoulder intently. "Trauma isn't really about what happened. It's how the person reacts to what happens. Annika's perspective is tainted. She doesn't know what his experience was. Locutus wasn't completely Borg -- he had to watch them use him against his own crew. That was worse than any physical pain; the largest part of his recovery was coming to terms with his helplessness. Perhaps for her, the recovery is the worst part because she was completely Borg, so losing control for her was the opposite -- losing the way of life that she knew, and losing the sense of power that came with being part of the Collective."

"That makes sense." Janeway sighed. "I guess what surprises me most of all was that he stayed in Starfleet after that. Though I understand a little better why, than I did before."

"You seem to be doing much better. We should finish the trauma work we started -- I suspect that two more sessions will be adequate, and since we have a few more weeks those will be easy to manage." Deanna's smile became sly. "How are you and Chakotay doing?"

"I'd think you could tell me," Janeway exclaimed, chuckling. "We're getting along quite well, other than trying to not feel self-conscious when crew are staring at us. I think once they get used to it, we'll be fine. Is Jean-Luc feeling better?"

Deanna now looked like the cat that got the cream. "Mengis came up with a few new protocols over the past five years that shorten the recovery time for serious tissue injuries. He and Batris worked on the bone regeneration units in sickbay and we now see much shorter sickbay stays than before. His caution over the first twenty-four hours after Jean-Luc's surgery was more about the heart replacement. He's still going to be off duty for the week, but it's easier for him when he can actually walk around and occupy himself than it used to be, where previously he'd be trapped in sickbay for days. And being able to get a little exercise helps as well."

"A little exercise," Janeway echoed, grinning. "I thought you were glowing a little more than you would doing yoga."

They laughed at it, Deanna putting her hands to her face. 

"And what was that this morning -- about his voice?" Janeway said with a guffaw. "Does he really not know?"

That brought Deanna's hands to her eyes. She seemed to be trying not to cry -- but when she dropped her hands, Janeway saw the opposite was the case. She was doing her best not to laugh. "He thinks I'm teasing him. All these years -- he can't have known, he'd be so embarrassed if he knew."

"Oh, dear. The ladies of the _Enterprise_ must love working here!"

Deanna started to laugh again -- it was a happy, light, carefree sound, reminding Janeway of Kes' laugh before _Voyager_ had begun the downward spiral into desperate times. Instead of the reminder triggering other distressing memories, Janeway laughed along with her, feeling lighter as she did so. 

When they subsided, both a little out of breath, Janeway slumped back and regarded Deanna fondly. "I don't think I've heard you so happy in the time I've been here."

"Recovering from separation from my bondmate helps. This is how it is -- we recover, we're happy. There were some long, trying times when I was pregnant, and there have been other incidents that caused physical damage and some emotional trauma, but we know we have this to come back to."

"But I haven't heard him happy like that." Janeway sighed. "You reminded me of Kes, in the early days, when things were so different. We would have time between crises to recover and enjoy life a little."

"I'm glad you're remembering positive things, now. I don't think you did before."

"You're right. When I came aboard that was hard to do. Is that how you cope, then, thinking about happy memories?"

This time, Deanna's expression was such that Janeway thought she must be seeing a bit of what made Picard so determined to have his wife and promote her too. The very happy, very relaxed Deanna was quite lovely.

A little crease between her eyes alerted Janeway to mind her manners. Deanna's smile only widened, as her eyes laughed. "Why, Kathryn. I had no idea," she murmured suggestively.

The only thing to do was laugh -- and then they were both roaring with laughter, Janeway shaking her head and wiping away tears. "Oh, no, I really don't -- you know," she gasped at last.

Deanna subsided slowly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "I know that you would be more interested in Jean-Luc than in me, if you were interested at all. It's not something I'm going to worry about."

"I've been surprised repeatedly by the two of you. From what I've learned about you, it shocks me how open the two of you have been with me. Jean-Luc explained some things to me before we left to rescue Kes."

Janeway stopped talking upon noticing Deanna's smile had dwindled. But Deanna tilted her head. "He told you about how depressed he was, and how lucky he was that I fell for him?"

"He gave me the impression that you saved him from a lonely retirement."

"He did the same for me." Deanna's expression softened, a pensive smile tempering a soft gaze. "Did he tell you that I fell for him months before he felt anything for me, and that I waited for him to come talk to me after I realized that he had?"

"You mean you didn't tell him? Even after you knew he felt that way -- why?"

"I didn't think he would actually do this. He'd tried before. I didn't believe he would allow himself to try again." Now she looked a little sad, thinking about it.

"Oh," Janeway exclaimed. "So you knew he had tried and failed bef -- oh."

The door opened suddenly. Picard came in, hesitating upon seeing Deanna's surprised expression and Janeway also in residence. "Sorry."

"Not a problem. I was merely inflicting my reminiscing upon our guest, as you have done so often."

Now the couple were gazing at each other fondly, and then Picard glanced again at Janeway. He was obviously off duty, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and some form-fitting tan pants that made her wonder if he realized the effect he had. Janeway caught herself and turned back to Deanna with a wry smile.

"Did you want something?" Deanna asked him, the lilt in her voice inviting him to want her, if he liked. Janeway expected him to show discomfort, embarrassment, but he merely smiled.

"I do indeed. But at the moment, I'd settle for some help with something you probably don't have time to do."

"I delegated a lot of things today. There's not a lot beyond normal ship operations to handle, at the moment. The repair teams continue to repair, and the cadets are in a holodeck with Natalia. Kathryn and I are going to attempt to help Annika, in a couple of hours. What are you up to now?"

"Why do I have to be up to anything?"

"Since you're on medical leave, you couldn't be expected to sit around waiting until you're declared fit to find some mischief to complicate life." Deanna's smile was quite puckish. No doubt he had earned her tease.

"I have no idea what you're babbling about. I only wanted to ask for a bit of help, not subject myself to accusations." 

"Jean-Luc," Janeway chided. It earned her a glance and raised eyebrow.

"You're wearing a shirt and pants you clearly got out of that drawer labeled 'my wife's favorite things' and you're in my office in the middle of alpha shift asking me for help, but obfuscating madly about the nature of the actual request. Do I need to ask Captain Janeway to leave to find out what it is?" Deanna asked, settling herself firmly in first officer mode. The careful wording impressed Janeway.

At that, Picard actually took a step over to seat himself in the other chair facing the desk. Now he almost sounded apologetic. "This is about you, but mostly about my wife."

Deanna seemed to deflate somewhat. "Something I don't want to hear."

"I asked Greg for records pertaining to your extracurricular interventions with traumatized officers, to support an appeal I want to make to get them to stop sending people one after the other -- to give you longer breaks in between."

"You're thinking you have to do this outside your role as my commanding officer?"

"Not exactly. I recognize that the lines are blurred to Command -- the only way they see us is as officers. I'll have to send it to them with the rationale that it's affecting your ability to do your job as a first officer. I want to make the point carefully, so that I'm not making it look like you aren't doing your job, but that if the situation continues it will -- so far it's only obvious at the end of shift when you're being a parent, and a wife, that it's too much. The captain can't really talk about what that's like very well, so I think the process needs to start with a request from you to have it addressed. Tell me how it's really affecting you in writing so I can forward it with a request from me to address the matter pre-emptively."

"Surely this can't be that complex," Janeway exclaimed.

But neither of them looked at her, or at each other. Picard waited, his gaze on the glassy black surface of her desk. Deanna leaned forward, propping her chin in her hand, elbow on the desk. "I'll send you the request."

"Thank you," he said, in a soft, warm tone that Janeway had never heard before from him -- of course not, she chided herself. That was Jean-Luc, completely, without the captain, responding to his wife. He was out of the chair and gone without another word, leaving the office at an unhurried pace. 

"Oh, god," Janeway whispered almost to herself. Deanna smiled at her with just a hint of amusement.

"I know. The voice. You can tell no one," she intoned.

"You could butter bread with it."

"I do much better things than that," Deanna murmured, smiling wickedly.

When they stopped laughing again, Janeway slumped in the chair, thinking about Chakotay. And about situations they could face -- different ones, as they were so far from Starfleet that there would be little pressure from Command until they returned.

"Is all of that really necessary? All the layers of all the roles have to be sorted through every time he wants to do something like that -- to act on the behalf of an officer?"

Deanna's expression shifted, leading Janeway to realize that all this time she'd spent with her, the commander had been more a friend than an officer. Deanna studied her with such a sharp look that she wondered if she'd made a misstep.

"He wants to be able to explain his reasoning after the fact," Deanna said after a moment of contemplation. "He used to jump first and sort it out later. Do things with a thin veneer of an official rationale."

Janeway considered this soberly. "And now he has more to lose, so he tries to make more reasoned decisions. At least so far as you and the children are concerned." 

"I've seen him go to great lengths for friends -- for Will Riker, for Worf, for Data. He knows how much latitude is given to officers and he's taken great risks that usually pay off. Some of them... Sometimes, choices he makes lead to regret."

Janeway nodded, remembering and understanding that all too well. In seconds, it was as though shutters closed -- Deanna's expression went neutral, composed, careful. 

"Perhaps I should go change for yoga," Janeway said.

"No. This is important." It was the first time Deanna had made such a pronouncement, during one of these conversations. She brought her eyes up from the study of her desk, met Janeway's soberly. 

"More important than some of the other things we've discussed?"

"You had a goal. Your sense of purpose and your career are central to your identity -- it takes incredible commitment to have any longevity, in Starfleet." She gazed across the desk at Janeway. Measuring something, Janeway thought. "May I be absolutely frank with you, about something I sense?"

Janeway's breath caught. She considered what that meant -- she'd believed Deanna had been open before, all this while. "All right."

"Your curiosity is your real drive. Science, exploration, an intense need to measure and know and experience. You live in the now. Starfleet is in your blood. You focus less on the future, other than your goal of getting your crew home, back to their lives, in Starfleet, as you expected it to be. The Delta Quadrant was exploration -- but the lack of support, the ongoing long drain on resources of all kinds, the ongoing awareness that there was little hope unless you could find a miracle -- that was not supposed to be part of the Starfleet experience you wanted to share with them. That goal of making sure they get back, you feel -- not think, mind you, it isn't the same thing -- is the most important, because deep in your heart you feel that it's your fault. It would have been easier to order them all to their deaths, than to a life apart from their families and homes, because you yourself feel so grounded in your own home and it's hard for you to imagine never being there again. Your challenge over the past years was that guilt. It was part of why _Voyager_ became so disabled, and you became so traumatized. After the initial deep-seated sense of failure at the Caretaker's Array, each loss -- whether a battle or a death or a setback -- struck the same chord within you, made you feel more helpless, and the determination to set things right doubled and tripled in response, until you lost the ability to be objective in each new crisis that magnified your guilt."

Janeway settled back in her chair and felt herself gaping -- she closed her mouth, partly against the angry retort that nearly escaped, partly to contain the defense she almost launched against it -- she clung to her earlier decision, to hang on and process prior to reacting to anything Deanna said in this vein, until emotional responses ran their course and rational thinking started. The intensity of her anger was surprising to her. However, as she sat through it, she recognized that Deanna's words resonated. The memory of telling Chakotay about that guilt as she sat in her darkened quarters sprang unbidden to mind. That it had been there each time something went wrong made sense, though she had no recollection of having thought of it.

"He questioned my judgment. I couldn't hear it -- there were so many times I felt so sure, so set, yet other times I knew there were other options and I could hear what he, what they suggested, weigh them out against each other -- "

Deanna came around the desk and knelt before her, unexpectedly taking both Janeway's hands in hers. She looked up into Janeway's eyes. "Perhaps you should take the afternoon to think it through. I'm going to meet with Annika. I think it is unlikely that I will be able to convince her to do yoga today, judging from how she is feeling at the moment. There are plenty of other things I can do with her instead."

"All right." Janeway stared at her friend, now feeling somewhat hollow, the beginnings of a headache sitting in her forehead.

"Think about the moment you first realized in your heart the totality of it -- what the decision to destroy the Array really meant, in terms of the effect on your crew."

Just the words launched the images, the moment on the bridge, everyone around her busy and while she had tracked what was going on there had begun the internal debate over how she could do it, and then upon fully realizing she had no 'how,' the panic setting in and being pushed, so firmly and angrily, to the side -- no time for it. No possibility of allowing the anxiety to have a place in her thoughts, understanding with the certainty of her captain's intuition that this would make or break her first command -- she could not fail them in this. The upsurge of helplessness had to be repeatedly shoved down, the feeling of choking on it threatening to interfere with her positive assertions and confident statements she clung to, but what else could she do but maintain the normal demeanor and act like it was status quo for starship captains to board their first vessel and get tossed out of the Alpha Quadrant for years, dooming the crew not to death but to decades of wandering the galaxy searching for resources and miracles?

The welling emotions nearly choked her, now, and then she felt suddenly the eerie calm -- Deanna had smoothed them down, returned the moment to memory, distant and past tense. 

"Oh," she gasped, sinking a little in the chair, opening her eyes -- when had they closed? -- and looking up at Deanna. "Oh," she whispered, calmer. 

Deanna leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly. "Forgive yourself," she said softly. "You would have crucified yourself either way. It was one of those decisions." She sidestepped around Janeway's chair and left the office.

Janeway put a hand over her mouth and leaned forward, then let it go -- she cried. Only it wasn't about guilt, now. She thought about the Array, the decision, even the moments that became less and less frequent when she felt that guilt and helpless self flagellation, and while there were echoes of those emotions, she wasn't swamped and caught in an undertow -- she could think, and breathe, and feel clearly that it was not a choice she would have escaped. There had been no other option, really. She'd imagined back then that having support from the crew, having their reassurances, would have meant more than it had, would have eased the guilt, and perhaps she had believed it until now. But something in her had clung to those feelings and it had anchored her. Now in the absence of the weight, she felt like she might float away.

After a while the door opened again. She sat up and found that Chakotay had entered the room. 

"Deanna said I should come. Are you all -- "

When she came at him, almost throwing herself into his embrace, he stumbled back a step as her arms went around his neck. A sob burst from her, followed by laughter. He held her while she cried again, this time in relief.

Finally, she stood back from him, even stumbled a little going toward the desk to take some tissues from a box perched on the outer corner nearest the chair she'd been sitting in. He watched her dab at her face.

"I think a bath would be better," he said.

She laughed at it, sobering at the concern that sprang into his eyes. "I'm not going mad, honest," she exclaimed. "For once that was not pain, or sorrow. I feel so -- so free, Chakotay, so full of hope -- I had no idea how much I -- it's gone, Chakotay. I don't feel so horribly wrong anymore, about destroying the Array, stranding us here. It was like carrying around my own personal Demon planet in my chest and she -- and now I almost feel guilty for not carrying it anymore, but she's right. I would have felt as bad, if I had consigned the Ocampa to death. Possibly worse."

Now he was staring at her -- floored. Shocked speechless. They stood facing each other across four feet of space in Troi's office for a long moment. Then he rushed her, grabbing her face, kissing her.

They parted, eventually, after some small eternity of impassioned kissing and hanging on to each other as if there were a chance of being lost somehow if they let go. His fingers in her hair, stroking slowly down the length of it -- she had no recollection of how the clip had vanished, but she didn't care either -- he held her against his chest. And then eventually he stepped back and she saw tears in his eyes, too.

"Welcome back, Captain," he said, smiling, his eyes alight with joy.


	30. Chapter 30

Picard hummed to himself, leaning close and gently guiding the last spar into place. The galleon had taken months -- he and Yves had started on ship-in-a-bottle kits at the same time, supposedly as a project they would do together. Yves had long ago finished his ship and moved on to ancient weapons, but duty and other distractions had left Picard's sitting neglected. At least he could claim he finished what he'd started.

He put the bottle on the stand and placed the completed ship on the desk, where Yves would see it when he came home. Beverly had called to let them know the children were now in the hands of the android family, happily playing endless games with Phoebe and Data's latest pet, the drooling, playful Labrador retriever that bore the unlikely name Esmeralda. Beverly had also hinted at some difficulty between Yves and Tom, likely more of the ongoing empathy adjustment the boy had to make.

As he turned from the desk, the door opened. He crossed the room to his tired-looking wife -- her forehead creased, she gave him a weary smile and gladly leaned into his embrace.

"Busy afternoon?"

"Annika has an idea about what she needs, and it isn't yoga. Before that semi-argument started I helped Janeway unhook from the guilt of condemning her crew to being stranded in the Delta Quadrant."

"That was the harder of the two?"

"Oh, indeed," she began, plaintive, and that she said nothing more, merely pushed her face against his shoulder, said volumes.

"Worse than my long years of guilt?"

{Just fresh and running deeper than I expected.}

He waited, holding her close. Gradually he detected her unwinding the tightly-held emotions she'd been keeping to herself, his arms tightening and his hand cupping the back of her head, keeping her close against him. As he noticed he was bearing more than his share of her weight, he considered options.

"Bed? Floor? Holodeck?"

A soft giggle. "I suppose you're not supposed to carry me anywhere. How about couch?"

She didn't seem so steady on her feet as she had when she'd arrived. He kept an arm around her, escorted her over and saw to it that she put up her feet. By the time he had her jacket and boots off, she appeared to be well on her way to napping. He'd intended a foot rub, but now he went for a blanket and made sure a pillow was tucked under her head just as she liked it, tearing the band from her hair to smooth out the long tresses so she wouldn't wake with a kink in her neck due to having the knot of hair under her head.

He went to the panel next to the door and manually decreased the volume of the annunciator, and as the indicator sank to the lowest level it went off softly. How very typical. He tapped the panel and the door opened to reveal Chakotay, beaming as if he'd just found the Holy Grail.

Picard held up a hand, stopping the first word before it was uttered, and came through into the corridor instead of letting him in. "Deanna's asleep. I know she wants to come to the poker game in a few hours so I'm hoping to give her the time to rest."

"Of course. I was actually coming to see her, to thank her for helping Kathryn."

"Well, yes, as I understand it was a significant bit of trauma dealt with, today."

Chakotay's smile dimmed, as it registered with him at last that Deanna was indisposed. "Does it wear her out that way, when she helps someone with trauma? Every time?"

"Not at first. It's more of a cumulative effect."

Now Chakotay frowned. "And she was just on medical leave, just a few days ago, after -- I'm surprised you let her do this."

"It's not a first officer's job, healing others. It's not my order she follows. I'm not the sort of husband who tells her what to do or who to do it with. At this point, I suspect she is pushing forward out of friendship for Kathryn, more than anything else."

"I suppose there's plenty of time left to thank her, before we go our own way." Chakotay regained a little of the smile. "I should warn you, I intend to kiss your wife, for her going so far above and beyond for Kathryn."

"I should warn you that you may find yourself flat on the floor, if you're not careful." Picard grinned, cuffed Chakotay's shoulder, and turned to go back inside.

"You don't strike me as the violent type."

"I'm not the one who would put you there. She can be protective of her friends' interests."

He saw the widening of Chakotay's eyes and the beginnings of a grin just before the door shut between them. Picard leaned to lock the door with a thumb and returned to the couch, to find Deanna watching him sleepily.

"Chakotay wants to kiss you," he warned, trying not to smile too much about it.

"No wonder you didn't let him in." She yawned, stretching her arms a little, peering through her lashes at him.

"You've exhausted yourself again. You should sleep."

"I need to be somewhere more comfortable."

As he expected, he ended up on the couch with her curled up and using his thigh for a pillow. He dozed off as well, leaning against a cushion along the back of the couch, until a quiet beep from the desk told him there was an update. The only way to stay sane on leave was to be informed, and he'd made sure the computer would let him know when there was a new log entry pertaining to the repairs. Considering going to read it, he decided to keep dozing.

The annunciator was his alarm. He suspected, and the computer proved him correct, that it was Beverly and Tom, early for the gathering. Beverly's brilliant blue sweater and skirt were a clear indicator that this was to be informal, if not stylish. She approached the couch, eyeing Deanna and almost tiptoeing.

"Dee," Picard said. "Time to get dressed for the party."

The expected response, a tighter tuck of legs and arms and a groan, put a frown on Beverly's face. She glanced at Tom, who had come in and waited with crossed arms just inside the range of the door sensor.

"If you want I can put you in bed," Picard said.

"What?" she murmured. Still mostly asleep, he thought.

"The cadets are rioting."

Deanna tried to sit up and roll over at the same time, and he tried to keep her from falling on the floor, but down she slid, hitting the carpet with a thud. Squinting up at him, she groaned again and rubbed her eyes. She got to her feet and headed into the bedroom without a word.

"Jean-Luc," Beverly exclaimed.

"I know -- all I can do is encourage her to rest. If you want to try to convince her not to work herself to that point, feel free."

Beverly smiled sadly. "I suppose it's more of the same -- of course she wants to meet your high standards and then some."

Tom snorted, but uncharacteristically said nothing. Picard noticed then the guitar slung across the other captain's back. "Are you planning to play today?"

"I figured I might just."

"What's this I hear about you having a fight with an eleven-year-old boy?"

Tom laughed outright at it, rolling his blue eyes. "God, that kid of yours -- you can't teach him to like baseball or something, he's got to argue about the threshold between sentience and non, over dinner."

"That's actually something he picked up from Janeway, I think. She's been helping him with homework for weeks." Picard sighed as the annunciator quietly chimed. "Come!"

The pneumatics of the opening door were drowned out by the wailing and screaming of an unhappy child. There stood Janeway, Chakotay, B'Elanna Torres and Tom Paris -- Miral was pushing herself away from her father, who simultaneously tried to hold her in his arms. Rather than try to ask Picard stood and waved them into the room, held out his arms, and after a startled stare from Mr. Paris the obviously-desperate father handed over the infuriated toddler.

The harried-looking parents watched raptly as Picard firmly tucked Miral in his right arm, pushed her arms against her tiny chest, tucked her legs in, and rolled her against his chest with her face against his right shoulder. The wailing diminished in volume, then she whined, muttered, and fell silent. He could feel one of her hands gripping the fabric of his shirt along with a little chest hair, but suppressed the wince.

"The new nursery staff probably don't know how to do the Princess NoNo yet," he said to his astonished audience.

"That's what Malia said we needed to learn," Paris exclaimed. "No one could get her to stop screaming. How the hell did you do that?"

"You should go talk to Dr Mengis in the morning, and ask him to do a full work up on her -- hybrid issues are subtle and sometimes impossible to address without gene therapy. Amy was a terror for months, as she grew -- her digestive tract and her sensory issues were giving us fits. Deanna could tell she felt terrible but nothing soothed her until Greg was able to untangle the gene responsible for the enzyme deficit that caused the endless stomach ache. And the nerve issue had to work itself out -- we had to hold her like this for hours, some days."

"You mean this is something we can fix?" B'Elanna exclaimed, clearly upset.

"No call for parental guilt. You can't predict what you don't know about."

Deanna returned from the bedroom, now changed into a ruby-red dress. She glanced around at those gathered, and held out her arms -- Picard passed her the toddler. Miral tolerated being balanced on a hip for a few seconds but immediately began to fuss. Deanna smoothed her hair from her forehead ridges and tucked the child's head under her chin, collected Miral's thrashing arms in one hand, and bent down to press her lips against Miral's temple. When she started to hum loudly Miral quieted.

"Why do you call it the Princess NoNo?" Janeway asked, smiling as she watched the baby suck on her fingers while Deanna hummed on, dropping an octave.

"We nicknamed Amy Princess NoNo," Picard said. "She would thrash around for hours screaming 'no' or break and throw things. That started at eighteen months. By twenty-four months, we'd had five rounds of gene therapy to correct the digestive issue, and the suffering diminished. By twenty-eight months the issue in her nervous system self-corrected and she settled down. Until then, the only thing that helped was either wrapping her up in something tightly or holding her, hard, with all her limbs tucked in."

Deanna stopped humming and swung Miral into the air. The child flung out her arms and legs, and as Deanna caught her, she laughed.

"Oh," B'Elanna exclaimed, smiling. "She's laughing again! She started being this way a month ago, after Tom left -- I thought it was just missing her daddy. But we haven't been able to soothe her since he came back."

"We were trying to drop her off at the nursery so we could come play poker but they wouldn't take her," Paris said.

"Computer, pacifier pattern twenty-four, then blanket pattern twelve," Deanna said, carrying Miral to the replicator and taking the result out of the tray. Once the pacifier was in place, the whimpering that had started the instant motion ceased was also gone. "It's a medicated, chilled pacifier -- she's got a few teeth coming in. The blanket is for swaddling her -- it has ties at the corners."

After a lesson in wrapping their toddler, fine-tuned by Deanna's sense of what was comfortable for Miral, the Paris family thanked them profusely and departed.

"Here I thought that kid was just being Klingon," Chakotay said quietly.

"I'm fairly certain I would never have survived four toddlers without an empath," Picard commented. It earned him a shove on the shoulder from Deanna as she headed back to the bedroom for shoes.

Beverly was giving him a speculative look, as was Janeway, and it occurred to him that perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. Beverly shook her head. "You wouldn't have had any toddlers to survive without her, would you?"

"Well, as long as I know Tom...."

"Oh, thanks, old man," Tom exclaimed. "Just because I'm less than half your age, and twice as good looking."

"There we go again -- you can't possibly spend five minutes in the room together without this," Beverly cried.

Deanna returned wearing one of her taller pairs of heels, giving Tom a weary glance. "Oh, it's nothing, Beverly -- let them flirt with each other if that's what they enjoy."

Janeway started to laugh at it, followed by Beverly. Deanna gave Tom a triumphant, amused smile.

Tom didn't react to their laughter but stared at Deanna. "Wait! You said!"

"It's a red dress. That was what you said -- wear the red dress," she said, hands on her hips. She looked great -- the silk was form-fitting, but modest. Clearly Tom had made the request -- again -- to see her in the little red dress she'd been wearing the first time he'd met her. At times over the years he'd hinted at wanting to see her wear it again; she'd always laughed it off and ignored him.

"Almost fifteen years and you can't let it rest," Picard complained.

Tom pointed at the hem of the skirt, just at her knees. "That is not _the_ red dress. You said."

"I don't think it would be appropriate to wear it -- I've gained weight!"

Picard raised both eyebrows; when she noticed, Deanna grimaced and crossed her arms across her breasts in that frustrating way that pushed them in and up, in a completely distracting manner. He backed a few steps and held up his hands in surrender.

"Oh my GOD," Beverly cried, turning her back and covering her eyes. "When will this end?"

"Now I'm really curious about this dress," Janeway said. She and Chakotay were enjoying this far too much from their expressions.

"I've never seen it, myself -- that was long before I ever met him. But I'm seriously considering a memory wipe if this doesn't stop," Beverly said, turning back and gesturing at Tom. "He keeps at her about this damned dress as if it's something special."

"He remembers it too -- you're not going to tell me he doesn't," Tom exclaimed, jabbing a finger at Picard. "Why wouldn't he want you to wear it again?"

Deanna turned on him, staring, waiting for him to respond. Picard sighed, his shoulders sagging a little. "Well, yes, I'm sure the others who were there remember it vividly as well."

"And I'm going to look good in it more than twelve years later? Do you think I should wear it, Jean-Luc?"

Picard gaped, shut his mouth, and held his hands higher. "Only if you want to."

"Oh, please, just so he'll stop," Beverly pleaded.

Deanna rolled her eyes and frowned. She spun on a heel and marched back into the bedroom. Once the door closed behind her, Picard glared at Tom.

Beverly beat him to it. "You're lucky she likes you -- damn it, Tom, what is it about that dress?"

"You'll see. He knows."

Picard shook his head, feeling dread at the thought of Deanna walking into the holodeck full of officers wearing that dress. He then realized that she'd gone in the bedroom, where there was no replicator, and that meant she had to have kept the dress. That thought led to where in the bedroom she had kept it all this time, and what else she might have hidden there....

Not that she would be hiding anything suspicious, or dangerous. It was a mystery. He couldn't resist mysteries. She had a hiding place, in _their_ bedroom. What else could be in it?

She emerged in a different set of heels, that matched the strapless, sleeveless sheath -- it was indeed the same dress. Command red, with a shimmer of gold in the weave of the fabric. Just as form fitting as he remembered, the back showing no bra strap or panty line -- the dress appeared to be glued on, showing off her shoulder blades and the indentations along her spine. She wore ruby earrings, a gold choker and redone her hair, in many small braids, gathered and twisted once then the ends pinned up beneath the twist, leaving loops of braid swaying with each head turn. A few ends stuck out -- she hadn't had him to help her neatly tuck them.

Open mouths, all the way around, and Beverly had both hands to her mouth. Tom grinned.

"See? It's -- "

"Amazing," Beverly cut in. "It looks fantastic on you! Why did he have to badger you to wear this?"

"Right, I'm changing back out of this." Deanna started to turn, but Janeway surprised her.

"I think you should wear it."

Picard looked at Janeway -- she herself had a dress on, not short, not tight, but flattering to her figure and in a dark rich shade of burgundy.

"I don't understand why you wouldn't wear the hell out of that dress," she continued. "Or do you just save it for when Tom isn't around to go into hysterics?"

Deanna had lost some of the ire, but looked at Picard, clearly in a quandary -- the circumstances in which she'd worn the dress initially had been such that she likely felt it would lead to revelations of things that were better left in the past. Or, perhaps, it reminded her of things she would rather not remember.

"Go on ahead -- we'll be along in a moment," Picard told their friends.

Beverly had questions in her eyes, but went with Tom and his guitar. He winked at Picard and unslung the instrument, starting to pluck notes from the strings as he walked. Janeway gave Deanna a lopsided grin and a wink and led Chakotay out by the hand. Once the doors closed, Picard walked slowly around her, taking it in, admiring her in a way he wouldn't do in public.

"Kathryn's right, you know. You should be wearing the hell out of that dress."

"This isn't the sort of dress I should be wearing around our ship," she protested.

"Why do you suppose Tom is being so adamant? Sentimentality, perhaps?"

Realization dawned, and a smile began. "Oh, Tom. Trying so hard not to show he has feelings."

"I know you're upset about something when I'm the first one to recognize what's going on."

She laughed, leaning into him, and her laughter trailed off as he put an arm around her. No doubt she'd sensed the rise of warmth and joy in him, at the sight of her smile. She took a step away from him. "I should wear my gift. It makes a lovely necklace, as well."

"I think you should wear whatever gives you joy."

The warmth in his tone led her to take a step back and study his face. "You give me joy," she whispered, touching his cheek.

It was only reasonable to kiss her, he thought, pulling her to him. She needed only slight encouragement to drape herself against him and take full advantage. When the wall met his back and jarred them apart, he laughed and embraced her, hands sliding against the tight fabric over her tight ass. She'd pushed him backward while pursuing the kiss.

"Party waiting for us," he murmured, smiling.

"I suppose we can do this later. Let me get different jewelry. I should put on a jacket, at least."

"I've told you before that you needn't be so modest, on my account. I know you've done what you felt was necessary to protect us, keep our personal lives separate while on board, all these years. Do you honestly think we need to worry about it today?"

She considered, and smiled, resting against him, comfortable in his arms. "No."

"Excellent. Any time you're ready, Madam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom Glendenning appears first in What the Tinman Found, as does the little red dress. He reappears in Dancing Lessons, Elephant Tracks in the Wedding Cake, Turning for Home, and comes out as a Section 31 agent in Actions Speak Louder. Leopards on a Limb is mostly about him. His relationship with Deanna becomes more understandable in Ravens in the Storm (which is still a WIP).


	31. Chapter 31

"I'm sorry, Tom," Beverly said as they left the Picard's quarters. 

Janeway shot a glance at Chakotay. He rolled his eyes. Whatever they'd walked into, it was continuing, and she supposed all she needed to know was that the four friends were acting out of a larger unknown context. If she took it at face value, it would have to be assumed that Tom had some basis to make demands about Deanna's clothing choices.

"About?" Tom strummed and plucked a mellow tune as he led them toward the lift.

"I should have realized. You're trying to relive old memories. You were friends with them before you met me, after all."

Janeway swallowed a comment. Old friends didn't invest themselves in clothing choices.

Tom waited at the turbolift, letting his hands rest against the guitar strings. "Yes, and no."

Beverly crossed her arms and eyed him questioningly. 

"You didn't know me, before. Deanna was the first one to understand me and trust me in spite of everything. I feel obligated to look out for her best interests. If I have to kick her ass to get her to stop being an officer once in a while, well, I can do that. Jean-Luc doesn't do that enough. He's one of those damned martinets who can't stop being an officer."

"Now, wait a minute," Janeway exclaimed, unable to stay silent.

Tom appraised her for a few seconds, now. "Deanna's the best friend I'd ever had. She changed my life."

When the lift arrived, the door opened, but Janeway ignored it, and so did the others. It closed again. Janeway realized she was holding Chakotay's hand too tightly and loosened her fingers.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to explain that, Tom. You're not making sense."

"Do you know what Section 31 is?" Beverly asked. 

Now Chakotay was gripping her fingers too hard. He gave her a wary look. Janeway sighed. "Are you going to tell me you're in it?"

"I was. Also I was doing intelligence work on the up and up, but that's neither here nor there. I was sent to kill Picard. She knew that before I told them. She trusted me anyway."

Janeway stared at the doctor -- this was old news to her, clearly, which helped Janeway recover from the shock faster. "I get the feeling there is a long, complicated history between the four of you."

Beverly smirked. "You have no idea." 

"Funny, about trust," Tom said. "It changes you, when someone knows all your sins and treats you as if you don't have any."

"Yes," Chakotay said. When Janeway looked at him, his smile made her wonder if she needed to go play poker, after all. 

"Yes," she replied, returning the smile.

"Section 31 doesn't exist any more, just so you know, and Tom made that happen," Beverly said, nonchalant. 

"Deanna did," he corrected, plucking notes from the guitar. "Couldn't have done it without her. Verly helped, too."

Janeway was pretty sure both she and Chakotay were going to have bruises, as they were now clutching each other's hands as if this calm exchange had rewritten their reality.

"You're sure this isn't a parallel universe," Chakotay murmured.

Down the corridor a door opened, and here came the Picards -- Deanna had changed her jewelry and her hair, but not her dress. Now she had her hair swept back into combs and hanging loose down her back, and brushed out to impressive volume; a collection of huge diamonds glittered at her throat, drawing the eye to her clavicles. 

"Were you waiting for us?" she asked.

"Technically, no. Tom was almost explaining something," Chakotay said.

"Almost?"

"Oh, they're just trying to sort out how it is that I throw a fit and you put on a dress," Tom tossed off casually, proving that he was intelligent after all.

"They must have bribed him, that was remarkably straightforward -- I didn't have to translate that from Glendenning," Deanna told Picard.

"They don't know that the only reason you don't wear this sort of dress has to do with me." Picard glanced at the lift door, as if wondering when it would open.

Tom snorted, strumming out a short melody. "Jean-Luc has this idea that it's some sort of problem, having a sexy first officer. I think crew are more adaptable than that. It doesn't mean they're doing anything inappropriate, if she's dressed civilian and not hiding her body under burlap. If she showed up during a red alert wearing that, they'd follow her orders just the same. Right, Verly?"

"I'm sure they would. Your crew followed you into battle while you were romping around the bridge in sweat pants and shirtless, that time you didn't have time to change," she commented, smiling at the memory. "Surprisingly no one even requested a transfer after they saw the scar on your back."

"I don't think Jean-Luc would ever show up out of uniform," Tom exclaimed. "Pretty sure he has one tattooed on, underneath his clothes, just in case."

"Then there are the rumors that he never had a childhood," Beverly said, surprising Janeway further. She was smirking at him. "I heard you emerged fully grown from the forehead of a fleet admiral. Like the goddess Athena, emerging from the head of Zeus."

Jean-Luc closed his eyes, wincing, trying not to cry, or laugh, or react in ways that encouraged this talk. Janeway leaned, poked his shoulder, and when he looked at her in surprise, she grinned. "If you relax and enjoy the teasing, it goes away faster."

He laughed, expressing the spontaneous surprised amusement she hadn't heard much from him, and it brought smiles to the faces of his friends -- Tom stopped playing guitar and thumped Picard on the shoulder, and put an arm around Beverly. 

"He's not so stiff as all that," Deanna said. 

"Especially if you slip him something alcoholic," Tom said. 

"You're on medical leave anyway. Have some fun, Jean-Luc," Beverly cajoled, leaning against Tom as if providing an example of how to loosen up. "I'll even have Tom play us something to dance to."

"I suppose I could even dance with you, if you like," Deanna said, a little mischief accompanying the glow in her smile.

"What happened to poker?" Picard said, suspicious to the point that he took a step backward.

"Oh, let's go play poker. Let the man recover and drink a little. We might just get him to dance later," Janeway said.

Picard sighed, gestured at the lift. "Did anyone bother to summon it?"

They fit in the lift together, barely. Now there was a distinct difference in body language -- Deanna backed against her husband, who still wore those same tight pants and white shirt, as if she might be drawn in by gravity. Surprisingly, his arms slid around her and tightened. 

Beverly turned her head against Tom's shoulder to hide a grin. Tom, holding his guitar vertically, smirked and said nothing.

They left the lift on deck six, spreading out, walking together. Deanna managed to tucked herself close with Picard's arm around her waist and still walk without tripping over him, or vice versa.

Voices down the corridor hinted that they were not the first to arrive. As they approached holodeck four around the gentle curve of the corridor, Janeway saw that Paris, Torres, Kim and Kes were chatting in the corridor. Kes turned to greet them with a blazingly happy smile.

"Captain -- and Captain, and Captain," she exclaimed, laughing a little, "good evening. I wanted to ask if it's all right if I join you. Harry asked me to come but I didn't want to -- what did you call it?" She turned to Paris.

"Crash the party," he supplied. "I told her you probably wouldn't mind."

"Oh, of course you can come in," Janeway exclaimed. "Can't she?"

Picard smiled, but Janeway noticed his hand tightened on Deanna's hip. "Of course."

Kes turned her smile on Harry, nodded, and walked with him into the holodeck, Tom and B'Elanna right behind them. And here came Tuvok, with deLio and Mengis. Deanna stepped away from Picard but caught his fingers and led him into the holodeck. 

Tom sighed. "I know," Beverly whispered. "Just let him be."

"Tom?" Janeway asked.

Glendenning glanced at her, shrugging. "I know he can relax and be himself. But the more people with fewer pips you have around, the stiffer he can be."

"I think he'll be all right," Janeway said. "He can't have survived all this time if he couldn't manage spending time with ensigns and lieutenants."

"That depends on whether he knows them or not," Beverly said. "I'm pretty much the only one left in the galaxy who knows both ends of his life -- he learned to care too much about image the hard way. If I told stories about the things he and Jack used to do...."

"He'd court-martial you." Tom, embracing his guitar, smiled at his lovely companion. "I'm going to tell Dee to tell him to relax -- you know what he'll do, if he has orders from the top."

Beverly caught his mischievous expression, gave it back to him. "It might work. The timing might be good enough -- she's pretty tired, he'll be trying to make her smile."

"Something I need to work on too?"

Beverly's smile deepened. "No, you do fine as you are. Go play your guitar, drink beer. You'll be doing a strip-tease in an hour."

"Okay, now you're just being silly," he exclaimed. "I meant the making-you-smile part." Janeway laughed -- it was the first time she'd seen Glendenning embarrassed to the point of a blush.

The casino was free of holodeck characters; Guinan was tending bar in the corner, and two card tables had been prepared. So far, the pool table in the corner opposite the bar had no one playing yet. Data was seated at the nearest poker table, visor on his head, band on his arm -- the accessories surprised Janeway.

Picard glanced at Deanna -- she had her fond smile on a higher setting than usual, as she touched his arm, leaned in as if whispering to him, and Janeway was a little surprised that she kissed his temple and he didn't react overtly to it. Deanna went to take the chair on Data's left. The way she was walking, it was obvious she was completely loosened up, being comfortable in her own skin -- Janeway noticed with a little anxiety that Harry Kim had turned from the bar with a drink just in time to notice her and stare with wide eyes at the movement of Deanna's hips. But Janeway caught Deanna's look as she pulled out the chair -- Deanna smiled at Janeway, tilted her head coquettishly, flicked her eyes toward Harry and rolled her eyes. Flinging her long hair back from where it fell over her right shoulder, the Betazoid raised her chin and glanced around the room, then focused on her husband as he spoke briefly to Kes, who had come to him and touched his arm to get his attention.

Tom headed for the bar, Beverly not far behind, and Janeway and Chakotay settled across the table from Data after a glance at each other to affirm with the other that this was acceptable. That left an empty chair between Janeway and Deanna, and two on Data's right. Picard sat on Data's immediate right and reached for the usual stack of chips. All the chips had been neatly squared up in the center of the table.

"I haven't played poker with you in too long, Data," Deanna said. She leaned and hugged the android's arm. "My neural pathways have noted your absence."

His shuffling paused as his head swiveled left. "I have missed you as well, Deanna."

"I sense sentimentality and reminiscing," Picard said. Janeway tried not to laugh at it -- had he decided to loosen up? She hadn't heard Tom say a word to Deanna -- but, given the familiarity he seemed to have with her, perhaps she picked it up telepathically? Janeway suspected that a happy reaction from her stood a good chance of ending the good mood Picard appeared to be in, so she schooled herself to focus on the game.

"You appear to be attempting to imitate Counselor Troi, Captain," Data said. "However, you may have been more convincing had you sensed feelings."

"He knows, Data. He's trying to make me laugh." Deanna did look like she might laugh, but she reached for chips and watched him with an amused smile.

"I would try to mimic someone but I have the feeling I'd fail more miserably than Jean-Luc," Beverly said, sliding into the chair next to Picard and putting her pint glass on the table. 

"Kathryn does a pretty good Picard," Chakotay told her. That got an incredulous look from Beverly, and was completely ignored by Picard, who involved himself overmuch in sorting his chips by denomination.

After leaving his guitar propped against the bar, Tom strolled around the table, swung his leg over the back of the last chair, and dropped into it, plunked his beer on the felt, reached for chips, and noticed the staring from Deanna, Data, and Picard. "What?"

"I never realized," Deanna said, wonderingly.

"He's nothing like Will," Beverly insisted. "Will isn't the only one who steps over chairs like that."

"You know, now that I see what I'm up against, I'll leave the computer and the telepath to duke it out and go start the other table." Tom grabbed his beer and vacated the chair.

"Data isn't a computer," Beverly exclaimed at his retreating back.

"Technically, I am, Beverly."

"That just frees up a chair for Tuvok. Come have a seat," Picard said over his right shoulder to the Vulcan, who appeared to be waiting around in the center of the room, while everyone chose chairs except for Davidson and Rorqual chalking cues and Batris racking pool balls.

Attendance wasn't total -- it wouldn't be, necessarily. Not everyone liked poker, or pool. Janeway fully expected Neelix to take advantage but he wasn't yet present. Annika would be absent, no doubt, even though she would learn much if she had come. Janeway watched Data shuffle with ease, almost mesmerized by the exacting movements of his hands and the cards.

"The game is five card draw. Deuces are wild, the cards speak for themselves." Data began tossing cards to people with precise finger flicks.

Drawing on memories of long-ago poker games with other lieutenants, Janeway nodded. "You remember how to play poker, don't you, Chakotay?" she said, grinning, teasing him. There had been poker games on _Voyager_ and she remembered well how good he was.

"Just a little. I may need your help with it."

Janeway watched the others at the table study their cards, and tried to read faces. Tuvok, of course, was a master of subtlety. Surprisingly, Data had the easiest tell; he actually smiled a little at his cards. Deanna mirrored her husband's posture -- both of them leaned back in their chairs, actually slumping a little, cards in their left hand, right hand resting on the edge of the table. 

The first hand proved to be a bust. Janeway folded after replacing two cards, having no hope of getting anywhere with a single ten as a high card, and she was right -- Tuvok swept in chips with a pair of queens, and no one else seemed to have anything either. The light banter started -- Beverly joked about firing the dealer, but Data ignored her and shuffled again. 

Deanna picked up her cards, reached for the bowl of nuts in front of Tuvok, fished out a few, and pitched one in her mouth. An innocuous-seeming thing, until Janeway saw the stare that Picard leveled across the table at Deanna's too-deliberate obliviousness. Something was going on, there.

The next hand dealt was more promising, and after discarding a card Janeway felt secure enough to toss in a raise of ten, watching faces as she did so. No help -- no one reacted overtly. Tuvok folded, and Deanna called.

"I guess I should have asked for help," Chakotay commented as he watched Janeway rake in the chips. 

"If he's as much a beginner at this as he was at pool, it should be the other way around." Picard tossed a nut in his mouth, and then, with an incredibly subdued expression of mischief that was masked quickly, pitched one in a high arc across the table, over Data's line of sight. Janeway blinked at the perfect parabola the nut traced as it plunked into Deanna's tightly-gathered cleavage.

The sudden tension between the couple caught Data's attention, and the android froze, glancing left and right at them. Then Beverly caught on, and stared at Deanna, waiting. Chakotay and Tuvok hadn't noticed the toss but caught on to the tension around the table and paused as well, looking around at faces. 

Janeway fought down a grin. It was so, so clear to her now, where Yves had gotten that parsecs-wide streak of mischief that led to his frequent pranking of Amy, who was always torn between laughing with him and getting even.

Deanna carefully placed her hand on the table face down. Data stood and backed up quickly, shoving the chair across the carpet and almost capsizing it. Deanna seemed to be contemplating a response carefully, her eyes lidded, tilting her head slightly. She let a long moment pass in silence. At the other table, there had been a murmur of the usual sort of chatter that happened at poker games, but while they waited in anticipation for a response that murmur trailed off -- now there was a larger audience, as the rest of the room noticed the situation.

Deanna rose, tugged the hem of the short skin-tight dress a little -- it only served to call attention to the way it clung to every inch of her body, the way the fabric shimmered slightly and inched along her breasts and ribs -- then pivoted and sauntered to the replicator on the back wall of the casino. She returned with a small bowl of long-stemmed cherries.

Now Janeway watched Picard for a hint of what this was -- his eyes widened, sliding slowly from the bowl to her face. And then he smiled. Oh, this looked so promising, Janeway thought, glancing at Chakotay with an amused smile.

Over at the other table, Tom laughed -- and then demanded that Paris finish shuffling and deal, already. It spurred both dealers into action. Data pulled his chair forward and resumed the game.

Halfway through the hand, after taking a card to replace the five she'd tossed away, Janeway leaned across in front of Tuvok to take a cherry. "Do you mind?" she said quietly.

"Oh, not at all," Deanna replied, giving her a dimpled, mischievous smile. She plucked one up by the stem herself and tossed it in her mouth. A few seconds later, she extended her tongue -- the cherry hung by the stem, which was tied around the end of her tongue. She plucked it off with her fingertips and pitched it across the table. 

She had excellent aim. The fruit spun through the air straight at his face. Picard opened his mouth, and to Janeway's surprise, it flew straight in.

Chakotay broke first, laughing aloud, and Janeway and Beverly joined him, leaving Tuvok impassively observing along with Data. "Come on, your turn," Chakotay said, nudging Janeway with his elbow.

She tossed the cherry in her mouth. "I'm not throwing my cherry at him, thank you," she mumbled around it as she chewed.

Everyone laughed again, and Janeway thought that even Tuvok's mouth twitched a little. 

Things settled down for three rounds, with only occasional projectiles crossing the table in front of Data. When he started snatching them out of the air with unnatural speed and accuracy and eating them, the little war stopped completely. 

Janeway waited patiently through another hand to see the next salvo -- surely the competition wouldn't stop there -- and entertained herself by prying her left shoe off with her toe, then running her bare foot up Chakotay's pant leg. He'd stretched out under the table, crossing his ankles. 

He smiled smugly and focused on his hand. She heard the low chuckle, and waggled her toes along his ankle, then began shoving his shoe downward.

A quiet harrumph from the other side of the table distracted her. She glanced up from her hand to find that Picard was leaning down -- putting on his shoe. Deanna plucked up a cherry by the stem and popped it in her mouth, this time chewing it. She watched Picard's attempt to scowl at her.

Then she sat up straight. Her smile dwindled. She caught herself before a frown pulled down the corners of her mouth, and made a concentrated effort to be absorbed in contemplation of her cards. The corresponding frown on Picard's face frustrated Janeway. What was this about?

It became clear a minute later. The arch appeared, and the holodeck door opened -- and the Doctor made his entrance, with Annika on his arm. The former Borg had a sleek teal dress on, with a plunging neckline in the back and a hemline at mid-thigh. Impressive, but after watching Deanna being so comfortably sensuous in her dress, it was obvious that Annika had very little awareness of how to carry off such an outfit. Janeway glanced at Deanna -- she wasn't pleased. But she returned to studying her cards without a word.

The Doctor made a show of pulling out a chair for Annika at the other table, and predictably, Tom left it -- the lack of patience he had for Annika was evident in his frustrated expression as he went to the bar, plunked the empty beer glass on it, picked up his guitar, perched on a bar stool, and began to play.

Picard shoved his considerable pile of chips into the middle and lost everything to Chakotay's straight. He stood, reaching into a sleeve as he turned from the table, producing a long object which Janeway realized was an instrument as he sat on another bar stool and began to play it. 

Janeway raised an eyebrow at Chakotay. "Don't look at me, I forgot my tuba," he said.

"I was not aware that you played the tuba," Tuvok said.

"I think he's kidding," Janeway replied. "You should have brought your lyre."

"Had I known this was a musical event, I might have."

The game at their table lasted another hand, while the jam session at the bar played on quietly. Then Beverly left her seat with her empty glass, and stayed at the bar talking to Guinan, sitting two stools down from the musicians.

Harry Kim came over from the other table and took the chair Picard had vacated, accompanied by B'Elanna, who made a face as the Doctor's commentary on the card game at the other table started up again. Data dealt them in seamlessly and tossed in his ante.

"Hello, Harry," Deanna greeted with a pleasant smile. "How are you?"

"Uh -- fine." A pause. Harry hadn't acted this way in years. Janeway glanced at him, at Chakotay, and tried not to react to it. "I wanted to know, if it's okay to join your martial arts class? I was going to join the one your security officer has but it seems like it's always crowded."

"Of course. Mine are in the morning, around ten hundred, in the gym. Tomorrow I'm having a demonstration after the class, with Captain Glendenning."

"A demonstration?" Janeway exclaimed.

"Tom thinks his kenpo skills are enough to defeat mok'bara," Deanna said. 

"Has he tested that theory before?" Chakotay asked.

Deanna's subdued smile was apparently the only answer he would get. Harry seemed to realize he was staring, shifted in his chair uncomfortably, and finally glanced down at his cards. "I'll take one," he said, discarding a card.

"Are you enjoying your time off, B'Elanna?" Deanna asked. 

The flash of guilt in the engineer's face said no, but she said, "I am."

"An engineer to the bone, then. Batris mentioned you've been visiting our engineering."

"Well, yes." B'Elanna smiled wryly. 

"Miral already talks about engineering. She reminds me of Yves, in that regard. They pick up so much more than we think they do." Deanna discarded two cards. "Yves used to teach everything he learned from his father to his stuffed animals."

Janeway chuckled along with B'Elanna. "I can picture that," Janeway said. "Have you met him, B'Elanna?"

"At the picnic. He and Naomi were ganging up on Tom, playing tag."

Deanna studied B'Elanna for a moment, her cards forgotten. "How far along are you?"

B'Elanna went rigid, as Chakotay and Harry tried to recover from shock and to not stare at her. For a moment, Janeway thought the Klingon would revert to furious and volatile, but she masterfully contained herself. 

"I'm sorry," Deanna exclaimed. She sounded genuinely chagrined. "I shouldn't have. I didn't realize -- "

"It's all right," B'Elanna exclaimed. "How did you know?"

"You were feeling excitement in excess of what I would suppose to be reasonable, while talking generally about children. It's a familiar pattern of emotions."

B'Elanna smiled at Janeway and Chakotay, even glanced at Tuvok. "I was going to tell everyone at the next meeting."

"Congratulations," Janeway exclaimed. "How exciting!"

While Chakotay congratulated and then teased B'Elanna about naming her next child after him, Janeway noticed Deanna went still, then put down her cards and lean to whisper something to Data. He nodded, and she stood and left the table. Picking up her glass, she strode casually around them toward the bar.

The music stopped abruptly. Glancing over her shoulder, Janeway saw that Deanna leaned between the two captains to pass the empty glass to Guinan, then propped her elbows on the edge of the bar behind her, putting one foot on the raised foot rail at the base of the bar. She lounged, smiling at Picard, posturing for him. Tom set his guitar behind him on a bar stool and muttered something that go her attention, resulting in a head turn, a toss of her hair over her shoulder, and a different version of her smile.

"What the hell," Chakotay muttered. When she turned to him, he pointed with his chin to the other table. Annika had stood up from her chair, her face a mask of anger.

Janeway was on her feet, dropping her cards, before she thought about it. As she approached Annika fled, and Janeway followed her out of the holodeck.

"Stop," she called out as the young woman marched down the corridor.

"I do not wish to stop."

"What the hell is wrong with you? What happened in there?"

Annika whirled about and stood, feet apart, glaring. The holodeck door sighed shut as Janeway closed the distance between them.

"Nothing is wrong with me. I do not wish to be treated as I was."

"Who was treating you badly? You were playing poker -- I didn't hear anything untoward."

Annika calmed a little, and now Janeway wondered if she weren't more hurt than angry. She looked at the carpet. "Deanna. She is causing others to notice and comment on her appearance."

"No, Annika, that isn't what she's doing at all. Not at all."

Annika flushed again. "Mr. Kim reacted strongly to her. So did Mr. Paris."

Had she paid any attention to the rest of the room? Janeway suspected that a more complete survey would have revealed more about the very normal reactions of humans confronted by someone like Deanna. 

"People may be reacting and commenting, but she isn't causing that. What you are seeing is someone who is extremely comfortable with her own sexuality. Deanna is focused entirely on her husband -- she dresses as she does because she likes to and she doesn't care if people notice. She's certainly aware of the reactions of others, but she doesn't care about them. She cares about his reaction. That has nothing to do with you. I don't think she even knew you would be here."

Pink-cheeked, Annika now looked flustered. Perhaps shaken because she had been so irrational that this hadn't occurred to her as a possibility. "I... I do not understand why I felt... You are saying that she was not -- then why did I feel...."

"Threatened? I understand how that could be. She's a little intimidating to me," Janeway said, letting the amusement color her voice. "But she isn't trying to. I happen to know her husband had to convince her to wear that dress. You were dressing this way to attract attention, then?"

"I have noticed that men look at me differently when I am dressed in this manner. Now that I am -- feeling emotions more clearly, without the influence of the deactivated implant, I wanted to see if that experience felt differently to me."

"Then I suggest you go back in and sit down, and watch Deanna. Don't feel threatened by her even if others are commenting on her. Watch how others react to her and learn from it. Remember everyone here knows you already and knows you still struggle with emotions and social interactions, and we aren't going to necessarily react to you openly out of respect for that. Please don't take it personally. I assure you, you've been noticed."

It seemed to be what she needed. They returned to the holodeck, and Janeway watched her approach the bar. The stiff gait was typical of her, and the people at the poker tables glanced her way but gazes didn't linger -- likely they were nervous of her reaction if they were caught staring.

Janeway headed for the end of the bar, where Picard sat now with Deanna, each of them with a drink; they were seated and half-turned toward each other, and watched her approach.

"How dare you," Janeway murmured, smiling puckishly, putting a hand on Deanna's arm. "Stop that."

Deanna's brow furrowed in bemusement. "Stop talking to my husband?"

"Stop making her jealous of all that attention you're getting," Janeway whispered. Annika had gotten a glass of something amber from Guinan and now sauntered back toward the table. She appeared to be ignoring them.

"Annika was trying to get attention -- I was aware of that."

"She's aware of everyone admiring your beauty. She felt you were deliberately drawing attention away from her -- one of the most irrational assumptions I've heard her make. I thought you should know, so you can help her understand."

Picard frowned. Janeway expected Deanna to say something to him.

But Deanna looked sad. "You told her that wasn't intended?"

"Oh, yes. Also that I was just as intimidated. I certainly wouldn't be able to pull off wearing a dress like that."

That confession did interesting things to Deanna's eyebrows. The bemused brow wrinkle returned.

"Really, I'm sure that you know well enough how people react to you. Don't you?"

Deanna glanced at Picard and slipped down from her stool. "I'm going to the restroom. I'll be right back." She sidled between them, heading across the room toward the arch. 

"Jean-Luc, what was that? She was upset, wasn't she?" When he gazed at her silently for too long, Janeway sat in Deanna's place and leaned on the bar, staring him in the eye. 

Finally, he responded, quietly, under the hum of conversation. "She knows how people react to her. She doesn't believe she's beautiful. She can put on a dress and people react. She knows she attracts attention. She thinks it has more to do with her behavior, her attitude, than with how she looks."

"No," Janeway scoffed. He raised an eyebrow at her but remained quite serious. "You had to -- well. Perhaps she calls you biased, but she certainly must have had -- Please tell me you're joking?"

"I can't. It surprised me -- she knows quite well how I feel about her, but it doesn't sink in that I'm not just expressing a bias. Men have told her she's beautiful, over and over, and she simply classifies that as just something that's said to her because it's what men say. Usually when they are trying to talk her into doing something with them."

"I can't fathom how this is possible."

"You would have to understand... her own mother, as much as she loves her, has such -- she's indescribable. Attention mongering, needy, to the point of not noticing when her daughter needs encouragement, and then at times she feels threatened by Deanna. And then the problem of the Houses and the maddening way they devalued her as a half Betazoid empath.... I cannot begin to tell you how much I wanted to take her away from that planet and never go back." Glimmers of anger started in his eyes. He glared at the floor, and then inhaled sharply, giving his head a shake. "Kathryn, don't approach it here. Nothing good comes of pushing this issue. We talked her into wearing the dress, which she feels is inappropriate aboard the ship -- that's enough for the evening."

"Tom pressured her to wear something she doesn't feel pretty in," she muttered.

"No -- I wouldn't let him do that. He wouldn't do it, either. It's the kind of dress she's worn before, on leave. She enjoys expressing that side of her. She accepts how she looks, even flaunts it. She knows she has an attractive body. But in a completely matter-of-fact way, she believes she is not as pretty as -- as other women can be."

Janeway glared at him, gripping the edge of the bar. "I can't understand how she can be so grounded, so funny, so wise and loving -- so confident, assertive, and still feel that way -- it doesn't make any sense."

But in a way, it did. She remembered Deanna telling her about being less than adequate as an officer, until she had more experience as a first officer. And as she thought about it, Jean-Luc watched her, clearly curious.

"She told me something about not -- I think she felt inadequate, as a first officer, at first. But nothing about this!"

Jean-Luc's frustrated but resigned expression said it was nothing new. "That was a long time ago."

"I was surprised she told me."

"One of the things she told me, long ago, when I was her patient -- what you feel does not always make rational sense. I did not always accept and handle my emotions adequately. She has blind spots, as we all do, and it took me a long, long time to see them, because she doesn't talk openly about them -- I hope you understand what that says about how she regards you."

Janeway glanced at the holodeck door. "She isn't coming back, is she?"

"She's tired. On her way back to our quarters. She realized how exhausted she really is and changed her mind about coming back. There's too much going on in the room, emotionally, and it's wearing on her." 

"And I had to come up and tell her -- I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. I would never have said that, but I was so sure -- I tried to tease her about it and -- this is criminal!"

"If she weren't so tired, you would never have known. The only reason I discovered it myself was the bond -- you'll never see her react honestly, reveal her feelings on the matter openly, to anyone. Not under normal circumstances. I'm going home." Picard picked up his flute from the end of the bar and stood. "Good night, Kathryn."

"Good night." Janeway watched him take his leave of Tom, Beverly, and the rest of them, and stroll wearily out of the holodeck. 

It said something, too, she thought, that he had told her as much as he had. She decided she would talk to Deanna in the morning, if possible. Smiling to reassure Chakotay, as he was looking her way doubtfully, Janeway returned to the seat he'd saved for her.

"Everything's fine," she told him, sliding her hand over his thigh under the table. Tuvok gave her a disbelieving glance and returned his gaze to his cards.

Kes came over from the other table, smiled at Chakotay as she dropped a hand on each of their shoulders. "Captain, may I have a word privately?"

"Of course." She shot Data an apologetic glance and went with Kes to the other side of the room, a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"I wanted to ask you if...." Kes seemed unable to look her in the eye. An unusual thing, for her. 

"Kes?"

A faint smile. "It looks like Seven -- I mean, Annika, has changed a lot. I'm worried, though. She came in tonight feeling such anger. She's not saying much, and no one's really saying anything to her, I think because they're afraid of what she'll do or say in response. And the Doctor is making it worse. You remember how he's given her all those lessons in social interactions? He keeps trying to do it, commenting on what people are saying and doing, and not noticing how frustrated she is with him now."

"Thank you for letting me know. I think I can help."

Janeway almost wished Deanna hadn't left -- but this was straightforward enough, she decided. She returned to the table and saw that Annika was stalking from the room, and that others had left as well. Paris and Torres were gone, likely to get their toddler to bed. And Tom and Beverly waved and smiled on their way out, Tom tapping her on the ass with his guitar as they walked. As they reached the exit Beverly took the guitar from him and brandished it by the neck. He took off at a run. She strode out with the guitar at the ready. After the door closed behind them, Janeway ran a hand across Chakotay's shoulder as she passed by on the way to the second table.

"Doctor," she said. The EMH looked up from shuffling. She realized that he was sitting there by himself, acting as though he would be playing another hand.

"Captain," he exclaimed, delighted to see her. "Care for a game?"

"No. I need to talk to you about something." Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Guinan on her way to the exist. Data had risen and was speaking to Tuvok and Chakotay quietly, something about seeing them tomorrow.

"Certainly."

She sat next to him and composed sentences carefully. "I wanted to thank you for all the hard work you've done, helping Annika. I know you've been there for her more consistently than any of the rest of us, and I know she's appreciated that."

"Well." He set aside the deck of cards, then didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. After a bit of fidgeting he let them drop into his lap. "I don't know that she shares your opinion."

"You know, I think, that another of her implants was partially disabled recently. She's struggling with emotions that were suppressed for a long time."

"And of course, it didn't occur to anyone to consult with me, her treating physician, before playing with her implants. Far be it from me to expect anyone to take that seriously!" He'd been bottling this up for a while, she thought. 

"Doctor, she altered it on her own," Janeway said. "I'm sorry that you weren't consulted. But it was her choice to do it as it was done."

The EMH glanced at her, losing some of the anger. "She doesn't seem herself."

"No. But she's going to be all right. I intend to leave her with the _Enterprise_ so she can return to the Federation with them. It will put her slightly out of sync with us, chronologically speaking, but I think they will be able to give her more support than we can. Commander Troi is helping her now."

The EMH nodded. She spent a few more minutes letting him vent on the matter, wondering if there weren't something more to his proprietary attitude about Annika, but then Chakotay came over. "Captain, ready to go?"

"Yes. I'll see you tomorrow, Doctor."

The EMH stood and walked with them from the holodeck, and turned right as they turned left. As they approached the lift, Chakotay's hand found hers. In the lift he pulled her against him, and she sighed and leaned into the hug.

"The things that happen to us," she murmured. 

"It's been an interesting evening, to be sure. You want me to check your clothes for nuts?"

She gave it a throaty chuckle, leaning her head back against his shoulder, sliding her hand back between them. "I know where yours are."

"Kathryn," he growled in her ear.

Fortunately, the corridor between the lift and their quarters was empty. She might have knocked over the unwary pedestrian, running from him, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the most beautiful women I've met have felt terrible about themselves - their body, their face, the way they walk, talk, or about some imagined physical flaw. Marina Sirtis has said that she was surprised by the attention she got from playing Deanna Troi, because she was never pretty. Yes, Deanna's judgment of herself is part of a story that's not posted yet.


	32. Chapter 32

Picard arrived home to find his wife running a hot bath. She came out into the bedroom as he came in -- she smiled, obviously tired but happy to see him. He glanced at the box of chocolates and the bottle of massage oil in her hands.

"I have to wonder what else there would be if I had delayed longer," he said.

"The string quartet couldn't make it. I was working on a brass band, but just couldn't find enough trombones. My next thought was a drum corps, or perhaps a harpsichord."

She went to the bed, put the oil and chocolates on the night stand, and put her arms straight up in the air. "Help?"

"Here's the part where you tell me this is why you didn't want to wear it?" he asked as he tugged and pulled at the top hem, and watched her wiggle out of the red dress. He dropped it on the floor and pulled his own shirt off, letting it fall as well.

Deanna sighed, rubbing her sides and bending left, right, then forward. "Horrible thing. Next time, you can wear it." She arched her back into his hand when he put his palm to her shoulder blade, leaning against his chest, twisting, her breast sliding into his right hand neatly.

"Tell me something I want to hear," he rumbled, trying to put that sensuality she claimed was there into his voice.

Instead of hearing her giggle, he felt her go rigid under his hands, and her head turned -- her eyes were wide. Then she kissed him, her arms going around his neck, and then it was his turn to be shocked, as he slid his hand low to fondle -- she was already wet. Was this really her reaction to his voice?

"I'm ready for my bath," she whispered, her breath tickling his neck.

Picard walked her into the steamy bathroom, feeling quite awake and starting to feel an urgency about things. She got into the water, sliding into place against the angled back support, her knees islands in the water for him to navigate between.

But then he thought about Mengis. Rather than risk it, he yanked down his pants, stepped out of them, got in the water, and settled facing her, against the other back support. She sighed, looking at him soberly.

"I really don't like it when Greg shows up and interrupts," he commented.

"I suppose that's likely, if I hurt you."

He snorted. "I'm perfectly capable of hurting myself, thank you. As he points out each time I'm in sickbay."

She ran her big toe down his shin, then behind his calf. "Wash my back?"

"Hmmm. What would I get in return for that favor?"

"Whatever you want -- in moderation, so we don't get a visit from half the medical department."

Picard caught her foot in his hand, sliding his hand beneath it to run his palm up the sole, along the arch. Instead of trying to put it in his voice, he ran his gaze up her body, remembered how she felt against him skin to skin, and said, "I want you to come over here. Kiss me."

The little furrow between her eyes, the startled widening of them, the start of a lascivious smile, and she bent her legs, coming forward in the water -- she floated, walking her hands up his submerged legs and came to rest against his chest, lips to his.

"Nicely executed docking maneuver," he murmured against her lips. 

"I may have created a monster," she whispered, before her tongue dove in for a deep kiss.

{Why would you say that?} His hands found her face, one gliding down her shoulder and heading underwater.

For an answer, she threw herself into the kiss, and the bond flared wide open -- the memory of the sound of his voice, and then the full measure of how her body reacted to that, sent him into shock. It led to her pulling back, her thighs sliding wide over his as she sat up and settled downward in the water.

"You need to tell me -- "

"It's just me," she said. "I react that way to you, because of how I feel about you. You don't randomly cause that reaction in the crew."

He groaned, closing his eyes. "Dee...."

"I shouldn't have told you." 

The regret in her voice alarmed him. He looked at her, the aching in his chest entirely due to knowing how much she tried to please him, after all these years -- all the talk with Janeway had brought her to this again, instead of the happy place they'd been in prior to finding her on Klane. Rather than confront her, he touched her elbow.

"Come here, Cygne."

Deanna looked down at him with a strange expression -- affection, concern, perhaps a little fear, he suspected. She came as requested and turned, sliding into his arm, her chin on his shoulder. 

"So if this is a causality loop, the next loop around I should leave Janeway in the cell, or possibly put her in a shuttle bound for the nearest star base."

She went completely rigid. "Jean," she murmured.

"If she can't stop -- "

"Jean." Her protest had more strength to it. "I know she was being loose, familiar -- "

"Too loose. Far too careless."

"What did you tell her? You're angry. Beyond simple annoyance, and protective."

"We should let her take the damned Borg with her." From the time the girl had come into the holodeck, Deanna had to put up a front -- something had angered Annika and the bombardment had been strong enough to give Dee a headache.

"She's -- "

"I know, she's not able to make mature choices, because she's still more of a child than anything. A confused, moody child, who thinks wearing a tight dress makes her a woman. Janeway should never have tried to separate her from the Collective."

"Kathryn is making mistakes with Annika based on her limited understanding of her. Just as she made mistakes tonight based on a limited understanding of me. I know how she came to the conclusions she made. What did you tell her?"

"Not enough. I should have let you handle it." He'd addressed one piece, the very smallest part, of what had been going on in the holodeck to affect her. He shared the conversation in thought, and let himself regret not doing more -- he'd known, because she had been so open to him, when she'd felt so weary of the anxiety and attraction from Kim, and Paris, and a couple of others she wouldn't identify to him -- that in itself was not unexpected. It was a given that she experienced that often. He'd known that Annika's anger had been on the periphery of Deanna's awareness, and that when the woman entered the holodeck and began to posture while scrutinizing Deanna and reacting in unwarranted and irrational jealousy, Deanna's exhaustion trebled, as she was trying to shield herself and ignore it. And then she'd tossed the hint at Janeway, who'd been far too loose, too far from the sharp, observant captain, to catch it -- making the point of mentioning how she knew the Klingon was pregnant, expecting Janeway to show the awareness of Deanna's sensitivity that she'd had before. He thought of it all again, and wished he had ignored her request for him to let such things be, let her handle them or not, and just taken her out of there when the former Borg had arrived.

Her arms tightened around his ribs. 

Holding her more tightly, he sighed. "That upstart lieutenant -- "

"Stop it," she blurted. "You pretend it doesn't matter to you who I talk to or engage in telepathic conversation with, impress Tuvok with your pragmatic, logical approach and impress Janeway with your complete faith in me -- because of course each of them will perceive that from their own frame of reference -- and then you turn around and see Harry Kim reacting to me in a dress you wanted me to wear, and turn into whatever this is you're being."

"Angry, yes. Frustrated. Kicking myself -- and now you'll tell me I left my crystal ball somewhere, because I know, I could never have guessed that Janeway would seem to understand the nature of your empathy, seem to grasp what you need to do with Annika, and yet she would entirely miss the obvious way that you were attempting to appear to ignore and observe Annika, to inform your next session with her. Then she had to talk her into coming back in the room instead of letting her just leave so you could stay and enjoy being with the friends you wanted to play poker with."

Deanna groaned, then stuck her nose behind his ear. Water sloshing around them, she repositioned herself. It required him to move his arm slightly, so he could continue to hold her against him.

"I am not jealous of some -- "

" -- upstart lieutenant, yes. Completely beneath you to be jealous." Now she was just mocking him. Not angry, but some of her own frustration showed. It reassured him, in a way -- a hint at the assertive side of her being closer than he'd thought.

"I fully expect you to wipe the deck with Tom tomorrow, to prove to me that you will always be able to adequately defend my territory." His fingers tugged the curls they were twined in, for emphasis.

She pushed herself up, dripping on him, staring down at him. "Will you be attending the demonstration, then?"

"I have the time, between my knitting class and the appointment with Greg." He hoped knitting was preposterous enough to get her to laugh -- it was the first thing that came to mind. He tried to think of something more comic, as a backup plan.

Deanna smiled, but it was a dim imitation of the kind of smile he'd hoped to see. "He's fast, you know."

"You're afraid of him?"

"No. But he has an edge over me, in size and speed."

"I think you're faster than you were."

"I can hope."

Picard inhaled deeply, checking himself, sighing. "I really wish I could hear your confidence again. Is there anything I can do to help you through this insecurity?"

She reached for the edge of the tub and managed to pull herself to her feet and step out, reaching for a towel. Sighing again, he followed her, holding out hope for the massage oil. 

He hadn't planned to get dressed again, but Deanna stopped drying herself, raised her head in that way she often did when someone had approached, and before she could even say the name of the intruder, he was on his way, raising a finger at her to warn her to stay where she was.

Pants, and as he left the bedroom, his shirt, and then the annunciator sounded. He tapped the panel, and the door parted to reveal Janeway, looking penitent.

"No, you can't talk to her."

Janeway frowned. "How did you -- "

"Because you're smart enough to recognize in retrospect that you made the evening impossible for her to enjoy. You could have let Miss Hansen leave, and take her anger with her. She wasn't invited, she isn't a senior officer, and she's a client -- the only one Deanna has at the moment. You probably interfered with whatever Dee had planned next for her. You bombarded Dee with your own anxiety. Enough. Let her sleep."

Janeway backed a few steps, her head coming up, her eyes widening. Hands flying up to her hips, she grimaced and stared at the floor for a moment. She sighed, shot him an apologetic look, and nodded, her expression softening to a woeful look of shame. 

"I should have thrown Annika out myself the minute she walked in. I should have walked around kicking asses, to get them to stop looking at her, because she doesn't need to deal with those emotions from them. I should have brought her home. I should have, except I knew it would only make things worse, make her angry, make her feel like I don't respect her choices, so I did what she wants me to do, and let her do things that lead to her being so worn down and tired that she loses the energy to be coherent, let alone the happy and confident woman I hired to run my ship. The only reason I'll let her give you the opportunity to apologize and be the friend you think you are, the only reason you'll see her again, is that I promised her I would make her happy!"

He realized at that point that he was lecturing, harshly, and stabbing a finger at her face -- he smacked the panel and closed the door, then spent a moment trying to calm down. 

And then arms slipped around his waist, and Deanna was hugging him. He reciprocated, and felt the ire drain from him. Her wild hair in his face, her fuzzy green robe making her a soft warm bundle in his arms, he held tightly while she cried, briefly, and put her hand to the back of his neck. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I can't let her do that to you right now."

{Thank you, for helping me keep perspective. I'll do better at not allowing myself to get this way. I'm so tired -- can we go to bed?}

She dropped the robe as she approached their bed, and he watched her slide under the covers before he went to his side to do the same, pushing off his pants before he joined her. He waited for her to settle in, her hand on his chest and his leg between her knees. 

{Kids are okay?}

{Yes. Please don't be so angry at her.}

He wanted to swear, but waited for the wrench of anger in his chest to die away again. 

{She only thought she understood me. That was what hurt. I let myself think she did.}

Picard rolled to face her and pulled her into his arms, tucked her head beneath his chin, wrapped his legs around hers. With a will, he forced his thoughts into line, imagining her being happy instead of ruminating over what he might possibly do to never allow his wife to suffer this again. That train of thought was doomed from the start, anyway. She chose who she associated with, and he wouldn't take that from her.

She fell asleep almost immediately, burrowing in against him like the children had all done, as toddlers. He took a moment to remember how to be content -- how the family he'd spent years avoiding had become the most satisfying part of his life -- and smiled as he dozed off.

Picard came awake all at once, just as he had always done, at the sound of an incoming transmission. "Data to Picard."

"Hm?" Deanna said blearily. 

"Data, I know you're about to say you're bringing them back. Do they want to come home?"

"Cordelia has repeatedly said that she missed you. However, she also expresses the desire to spend more time with Phoebe, as do the -- "

"As much as we've missed them, I think you should take full advantage of the opportunity to spend time with them, Data. You haven't had much time to be their uncle, after all. They can stay another day if you're willing to let them."

Muted cheering, as Data said, "That would be acceptable. I will see you tomorrow." The channel closed, and silence returned.

"That was devious," she muttered, pushing her forehead into his shoulder. 

"Everyone gets what they want, today. Go back to sleep. I'll wake you in time for your class."

"The bridge -- "

"Picard to bridge," he exclaimed without raising his head from the pillow.

"Mendez, here, sir."

"Status?"

"Unremarkable. Sensors are quiet, and you're still on medical leave."

Deanna pushed away slightly, rolling her head back to be free of the blanket. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Page me if you have anything to report. I will be there after my morning class."

"Oh -- sorry sir, for a minute you sounded like Captain Picard. Will do. Mendez, out."

"Devious," Picard echoed, chuckling. "Sleep."

"We'll have to do something about the hallucinating second officer tomorrow," she murmured happily.

Picard wasn't as exhausted, having been on leave for too long, so he held her and endured her light snoring, letting his eyes close as he enjoyed the first morning of minimal interruptions in --

He sighed when the annunciator went off. It woke her again, but he unwound himself from the covers and tucked them around her, making it clear what he wanted her to do. He almost tore the pants he'd left on the floor, putting them back on, and grabbed up his gray robe from the back of a chair to throw it over his shoulders on the way out.

"Don't kill him," he heard her mutter as he left the bedroom. He paused, took a breath, and let the door open.

Mengis stood there. 

"It's not even the start of alpha shift," Picard blurted defensively. 

"I realize. I was summoned to sickbay to deal with Miss Hansen, who was brought in by Kes, the Ocampan telepath. After I sedated Hansen to help her stop having panic attacks, Kes informed me that Deanna hadn't been doing well last night at poker, so I thought I would check on her."

This was, Picard recognized wearily, one of the things he should have done himself. Gesturing at the bedroom door, he followed the doctor in. Mengis ran the tricorder for a moment. 

"Am I dead yet?" Deanna asked, clearly feeling better than she had last night. 

"No, you appear to be fine. Psylosynine is a little low, but not deficient. You should be able to kick Glendenning's ass without issue."

A giggle, and Deanna raised her head to squint at him. "Jean-Luc!"

"If there's a betting pool, I'm not part of it. Yet."

"I'm not here on behalf of the betting pool. But I have every confidence in you, Deanna. You must have slept well, for once."

After the doctor was gone, Picard sat on the edge of the bed and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Feeling all right?"

"Yes. But I could feel better." The innuendo was promising.

"You should save your energy. Kick his ass twice."

"And then you'll tear off my gi and have your way with me in the middle of the gym?"

"Damn straight," he exclaimed, grinning.

She wriggled over on her back and gazed up at him, her eyes puffy and her hair in complete disarray. "Why are you feeling so much happiness, right now?"

"It's been a long time," he said, trailing the backs of his knuckles down her cheek. "I usually get up and get distracted with the children, and hardly ever get to see you this way any more. It's always felt like such a privilege, seeing you in the morning before you're dressed and made up and your hair is done."

She smiled at him fondly. "Oh, silly fish," she exclaimed, a little embarrassed.

"I've always felt that way, you know. I'm fortunate to have been given the amazing opportunity to see your beauty in all stages, in all modes of dress, for more than a decade. It makes me want to try again with painting, so I can fill all the walls with reminders of everything you are to me." That it would counter the pressure of external forces that threatened this private little world went unspoken. 

Deanna fell quiet and the smile lost the dimple. Sitting up, she caught his hand and sighed. "I've never seen you this way before. You feel so much joy one minute, so much love, and then so much frustration."

He couldn't find words, then, and gripped her hand, shaking his head. 

"Jean-Luc, I love that you want to protect me. I love you, so much, for wanting to defend me."

"So it follows you'll love me more if I actually do it."

She laughed -- it ran through him like joy, tickling and rippling and prompting him to throw his arms around her at the sound of her low, delighted, affectionate chuckling. They wrestled for a moment, ending with him on his back again in the tangle of blankets with her trapped in his arms, laughing again.

The damned annunciator brought them back from the heart fire too soon. Deanna sat up on the edge of the bed, so deliciously disheveled that he opened his mouth to order the computer to lock the door, turn on the 'do not disturb,' but she gave him a sad look of request. 

So instead he stood with her, and went to get one of his shirts -- she blinked, looking at him with surprised, wondering eyes as he pulled it over her head and carefully freed her hair from it. He held up the green robe and she compliantly put her arms in the sleeves, watched him tie it around her waist, and stiffened briefly as he began running his fingers through her hair, loosening tangles, then guffawed incredulously as he began at her scalp and braided her hair in a long, orderly herringbone. He took his time, taking thin strands and turning the mass into an intricate tapering braid that angled to her left, and tied off the end, leaving it over her shoulder. It hung almost to her elbow. 

Standing back, he surveyed her as if contemplating a work of art in progress, and smiled. Her hair wasn't sleek -- loose strands formed a halo around her face, leaving a hint of the disheveled look he loved. Her bare face still had a little puffiness to it, and as he ran his thumb along her jaw she smiled fondly at him, perhaps a little sadly. He spent a moment communing silently with her, asserting himself in firmly intending to not let her do anything that would undo what a night's rest had done -- leaning in, he brushed his lips across hers and turned to pick up his gray robe from the back of her chair at the dressing table. 

In the living room, he pointed at the couch. She considered him, and he knew she was observing what he felt, how he wanted this to go, and turned to settle on the middle cushion, pulling her feet up to sit cross-legged. Her dark eyes followed him, alight with affection and amusement, just the way he wanted her to be. Bracing himself, centering with a couple of deep inhalations, he jabbed his thumb on the panel and squared his shoulders as the door opened.

Janeway wasn't in uniform, and Hansen didn't appear so angry as she had been. Not resigned, not particularly friendly, but the icy blue eyes appraised him coolly. Janeway had a resigned look of determination, with a hint of regret in her eyes.

Picard pointed into the room, watched them enter, and headed for the replicator. "Computer, the usual."

He brought the tray and placed it on the low table, and settled on the edge of the couch to assemble coffee, cream and the proper amount of sweetener into a mug for her, glancing occasionally at Deanna and their guests. 

"Good morning," Deanna said softly, breaking the uncertain, tense silence. "Are you feeling better today, Annika?"

"You know how I feel. That has been repeatedly made clear to me. I am not certain why you would ask." The stiff delivery suggested regression. That made sense.

"I ask because it's polite. Also, humans sometimes don't understand their own feelings until they speak them. When you are allowing your emotions to guide you, your rational brain moves aside. When you are allowing your rational brain to control and to analyze, you move away from emotions. Asking a human to speak their feelings requires them to balance between the two -- emotions are important, thoughts are important, and to give each of them consideration, balance is necessary."

Annika's face shifted -- Picard focused on what he had learned of micro-expressions, on the flitting emotions the former Borg played out so plainly -- and snapped his fingers, interrupting the disdainful, angry response Annika was about to make. He pointed at her face, and her attention went to the finger, then up to his face as he intended. The captain came to the fore, demanding attention and serious consideration of what he was about to say.

"You will understand this, before you say another word," he announced, in that quiet yet firm tone that carried a hint of threat. "Your continued presence on this vessel will be contingent on your attitude toward her. You WILL respect what she has to say. This is Dr. Deanna Troi, a psychologist with ample experience in understanding and treating emotional issues of such complexity that it escapes the lay person's comprehension of the depth of how much she sees and knows about them. That hostility you feel will come to an end, because you WILL discuss it with her and develop better control of your emotions, and you WILL learn how to behave in a respectful manner toward people who have only good intentions toward you."

She opened her mouth, but he leaned forward a few inches, scowling. Annika leaned back slightly, eyes widening.

"I do not care how angry, or hurt, you feel, when you put up this pretense of knowing more than you do -- you were angry at her, for trying to 'force' you to do something. You heard from your crewmates things that told you that they admire her, and see her as beautiful -- you feel threatened by that, because you want to be looked at with admiration, and the underlying drive to be perfect that the Borg imprinted you with is pushing you to think it's more important to feel superior, than to consider the feelings of others. You don't even realize what you are doing to others -- "

A telepathic push from Deanna made him pause, regroup, move on to another point. He sat back, his spine ramrod-straight, glaring at Annika. Peripherally he noticed the ire in Janeway's gray eyes. Well, that was her problem -- letting herself get too emotionally tangled up in this girl, treating her too sympathetically.

"You will cease to pretend you have enough information to make useful decisions and become a student of humanity. Students are focused on learning. Asking questions. Thinking and observing and studying. Asserting your desires and being demanding can wait until you are able to assess how to do so without being a selfish asshole. You will consider this your primary function while you aboard this vessel, and you will be subservient until such time that Dr. Troi declares you able to function independently of her guidance. This is my requirement for your inclusion in MY Collective. Resistance. IS. FUTILE."

Annika stared at him in shock. 

"Really," Deanna murmured, letting him know with her soft tone how loud and angry he'd become, by contrast.

Sitting up, he tried to contain the anger, relaxing, letting the curl fall out of his lip -- he'd let himself tap into the hatred for the Borg, unconsciously, and as he let the tension drain, his shoulders settled and his eyes drifted shut for a few seconds. When he opened them, he gazed at her calmly.

"We'll meet at our regular appointment time this afternoon," Deanna said, as if nothing had happened. The counselor voice was in full effect, warm but not affectionate in a way that invited the client to feel that the counselor was her friend. 

Annika sat, gazing at nothing, for a few seconds. She glanced at Janeway -- a hint of accusation, Picard thought.

"Do not mistake anything that anyone else tells you as part of your treatment," he said calmly. "Don't assume. Ask."

The hard blue eyes swung to Deanna. "Is what he says true?"

"Captain Picard does not lie. He may have an uninformed perspective at times, but when he feels he needs correction, he asks the correct personnel for opinions. You can trust that he will say nothing to you without informing me and obtaining my approval." Her dark eyes swept over to meet his, and the hard look was answered with his nod.

So the contract was made, so the damned woman-girl stood and stiffly acknowledged it with a slight bow before striding from their quarters.

"She followed your order to the letter," Deanna said. "She'll do that, now. It connected a few dots for her."

"Good." He gave Janeway a firm look and rose, picking up the second cup of coffee and taking it with him to the bedroom.

When he emerged dressed for the day, in uniform from the waist down and a black shirt that might be mistaken for regulation, unless one noticed the cable knit, he found that his hunch was correct. Janeway was leaning forward, a cup of coffee in hand and gazing at the coffee pot while looking penitent. Deanna still sat cross-legged with her own coffee resting in both hands in her lap. The weary expression was an indicator of frustration, not energy level, he noted as he checked in via the bond.

Janeway glanced up at him as he came to sit with his wife, brushing Deanna's shoulder with his hand, inviting contact. She turned her head, following the movement with a lean of her shoulders, then a shift to her left as she came to rest against him. If he focused, he could tell she was drawing from him -- reassurance, and balance. 

"You should put on your gi."

"It's that time, I suppose." She sighed, resting for a moment against his chest, then raised her head to kiss his cheek as she pushed up from the couch and brushed by him in a fluid walk that said she was already tuning in to her body, already preparing for the process of becoming a weapon. 

Janeway gazed at him. "I owe you an apology, as well."

"I shouldn't have gotten carried away, last night. I couldn't plead weariness, either."

"I let myself go too much. I should have been paying more attention. It's hard, Jean-Luc. Hard to see -- there's got to be a better way, I can't just isolate myself so completely that I lose all perspective, but they're my friends and I just want to be myself. And I felt so comfortable with her, confident that I knew her well enough to tease, and -- " Janeway winced. Yes, she'd completely misjudged, and recognized how. There was hope.

"I think you'll find the balance. I overcompensated, and Deanna had to work at me for years to get me to stop."

"That's what they -- " She caught herself. Closed her mouth, sat back in the chair, frowned.

"That's what my senior officers say. That's what my friends say. Beverly teases me incessantly and doesn't expect me to change a damn bit, because she knows I can't, but she'll remind me often enough to help me stay here, with my wife."

Janeway's eyes came up, wide, as it hit her. 

"I was Dee's most difficult patient. And she let me be whatever I wanted to, let me wallow in anxiety or pain or loneliness, calling it to my attention over and over and pointing at other officers and telling me that they were dealing with a relationship issue, or a career choice, or a family change. Giving me example after example of healthy and unhealthy choices. She let me learn at my own speed. Forcing me, lecturing me, works as well as assimilation -- not at all. She merely shaped her message into our conversations until I started to hear it. And then she stopped talking to me altogether, and I discovered that I wanted her to change the conversation."

"You didn't feel manipulated?"

"That's too strong a word. But I did, at times. Threatened, manipulated, pushed -- but she backs off, when she senses it. She only pushes or challenges when it's in line with what the client wants, their stated goal. She makes mistakes. Bad assumptions. But she picks up on that, apologizes, reorients herself. Like we all do."

Deanna came back in the white gi, tying her black belt as she came, the three bars on the ends designating her ranking. She'd wound the long braid up on the back of her head. Coming to him, she handed over pins, turned her back, and let him finish the job of firmly containing her hair so it wouldn't interfere with the task of teaching everyone that she was a force to be reckoned with physically as well as intellectually.

"I think I'm ready," she announced. Grinning, she bounced to her feet. "Let the ass-kicking commence."

"Make it so," he exclaimed, answering the grin with a wicked one of his own.

\-----------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have misspelled B'Elanna pretty consistently -- one of several typos to fix later.
> 
> 411 pages, dammit!
> 
> But there are things to tie up, and so onward we go. To the dojo! Wherein Tom gets his, and Jacoby gets a clue, and Jean-Luc is proud of his little bird.
> 
> If you wish a soundtrack, if you find music sets or reinforces mood, while composing these chapters I listen to Kelly Clarkson's Piece by Piece, You + Me (Alecia Moore and Dallas Green's collaboration - you may know her as P!nk), P!nk's Truth About Love and I'm Not Dead albums, all of which are available for streaming for free if you have Amazon Prime.


	33. Chapter 33

Janeway watched Picard leave the room, then watched Deanna finish adding sweetener to her coffee and settled back on the couch.

"Please tell me you didn't tell him to say that to Annika," she exclaimed.

But Deanna sipped her coffee, and looked thoughtful for a few minutes. At length, she said, "I don't tell him what to say to anyone. There are certain constants in my life, and one of them will always be that my husband refuses to allow anyone to take advantage of me when he sees that I am doing nothing to stop it."

Janeway tried to set aside the rising guilt and self-recriminations when that statement resonated too much. "I am so ashamed, Deanna. I assumed we were on the same page and it clearly wasn't the case. I hope I didn't cause too much damage to the work you're doing with Annika. Or to our relationship," she added, pushing herself to say it. "Please forgive me."

Pain darted across Deanna's expression, but was smoothed away almost instantly. She looked down at the tray on the table between them. 

Sitting almost on the edge of her chair, Janeway set aside the urge to keep talking. She thought about last night's conversation with Chakotay, the self-righteous anger she'd felt when he'd brought up his concern for Deanna -- she'd thought that Deanna certainly knew she'd been teasing, and simply been overtired -- then she'd felt chastened dismay when he confessed that he'd noticed what she had not, sitting at the poker table, watching Deanna. Chakotay had been enjoying himself, watching for 'tells' and laughing at the affectionate little interplay between Picard and Troi, and then he had seen her face change, moments before Annika's arrival. He'd seen it change again when the young woman sat down and those around the other table had rearranged themselves. He had looked back and forth, noticing Annika's smoldering frustration so plain in her face, and the Doctor's attempts at occupying her, distracting her with lessons. Chakotay had caught Deanna's subtle attempts at coping, even a few moments of plexing -- he had to explain to Janeway that Betazoid stress management technique of tapping a pressure point behind the ear -- before the tired woman in the slinky red dress had risen and gone to her husband. Which Janeway knew already was what happened when Deanna felt the need to recover from emotional turmoil beyond her considerable ability to handle, proximity to her bondmate being the one thing that soothed her when all else failed.

And then, Janeway had returned from the anxiety-provoking interaction with Annika, bringing her worries that the woman she had considered a sort of joint project with Deanna to interrupt and nullify Deanna's attempt to recover.

When Picard had refused to let her in, it was beyond obvious, what she'd done.

"I understand -- I know now that I should have let Annika leave, and I promise to ask before -- "

As she spoke, Janeway glanced up, and froze. During the long silence, Deanna had put her cup on the table and now sat hugging herself, lost in thought, looking for all the world like a miserable, desolate woman who had lost all hope. 

"Deanna?" 

The black-on-black eyes darted left, to look at her, and then closed. She seemed to be struggling with something, and while Janeway's mind raced to provide theories as to what that could be, she waited, breathing slowly, trying to do as she'd seen Picard do -- to calm herself and stop being upset, to be rational.

Deanna uncrossed her legs and scooted forward, and the green robe gapped as her arms came down and straightened as if supporting her. The uniform shirt beneath it had four pips at the collar. Janeway stifled a surprised laugh. When Deanna looked at her in confusion, she gestured at the pips. A hand came up, fingertips brushed them, and a bemused smile broke through the sadness.

"That had to be intentional," she murmured. Janeway could only suppose she meant Picard. Had it been her intent, she would not have commented so.

"I'm so sorry," Janeway insisted, softly. "I guess I need remedial work, on how to be an empath's friend."

A pained smile, and Deanna looked down again. "I'm not an easy friend to have. It's quite threatening to be close to me."

"You're giving me an easy 'out.' He would shout at you. I'll settle for not letting you do it."

"I've been so lonely, so often. It felt like you understood that kind of loneliness. I went to the Academy because I had nowhere to belong, no one to understand, and thought that surely, with all the diversity there, I would find someone.... It took so long, with so many missteps." Now there were tears, and she must be shielding herself from her husband, because he would be there if he knew. "I didn't even expect to find a husband. All I wanted was someone to really understand, really know what it is to be -- different. I wasn't ever telepathic enough, or pretty enough, or strong enough."

Janeway bit back the reassurances that probably everyone had ever given her, and took another slow breath, trying to really hear what was being said. "And so you did find those friends. You have some of the most unique, most wonderful friends."

"Yes."

"So I suppose the question is whether or not you still want a friend like me -- too cocky and caught up in trying to do things my way."

"The other question is whether you feel my friendship, my unique way of relating to close friends, is what you really want in a friend."

"No, that's not a question at all." Janeway sighed, hanging her head briefly. "I would be stupid, to think that way about you."

Deanna bent to get her cup and pour more coffee, and something in her face told Janeway that she hadn't expected to hear that. Frowning, Janeway averted her gaze and tried not to feel so anxious about it.

The low, amused chortle surprised her. She looked up to find Deanna smiling, wiping at her eyes, trying not to laugh. "You remind me of Jean-Luc. While he was figuring out how to be himself with me, as it became so clear to him every five minutes or so that I experienced his emotions so instantaneously -- it was like a red alert, every few minutes, for days."

"Sounds familiar. I was thinking -- wondering, why you seemed to expect me to not want to be your friend. You've been nothing but a good friend to me."

The amusement faded. Deanna's expression moved from sad to resigned, and her gaze fell again. Janeway stared, wondering what she had done wrong, starting to second guess, and then Picard returned. Deanna's expression morphed in an instant when he touched her shoulder. He brought her to his chest and she responded with a blissful expression that said she'd just returned home.

Then it was time to go -- Deanna went to change, and Picard's brief visit to the past reassured her that she wasn't entirely hopeless, that he didn't seem to think she'd made an unforgivable mistake. Janeway followed them down the corridor, then remembered she had left Chakotay waiting -- she told them she would meet them there, with Chakotay. When she backtracked to her own door, Janeway hesitated, thinking about what Picard had said. She shook herself out of deep thought and walked through the door. 

Chakotay was waiting for her, not even pretending to read. He got up, setting down a mug, but as she halted he did as well, seeing that she wasn't immediately turning around to go. "Everything okay?"

"I don't know. I keep thinking I have things sorted out, but now I'm questioning everything. I spoke with her, asked for forgiveness, it felt like it was almost.... Then something else I said hurt her. Why is this so hard?"

Chakotay's sympathetic expression wasn't helping, either. "It sounds like you're too close to the situation. Tell me about it."

"I feel a little like I'm betraying confidence, but I feel stuck. It's nothing like talking to Kes. I feel like I'm failing a test. Oh, Chakotay, this is so frustrating! I feel like it's right in front of me, and I can't see it."

"Kes isn't an empath."

"No," Janeway moaned, pacing back and forth, arms crossed. "It's like the minute I cleared up all the trauma -- suddenly I start making mistakes, with her. Is that the problem? I'm not a client. She made that clear that I wasn't a client, even when we were addressing trauma."

"Maybe she changed the way she thinks about you, anyway?" Chakotay thought about it. "Maybe he gave you clues? Was he there?"

"When I was talking to him.... he said -- oh. I asked him if he felt manipulated, by her. I asked him that, when he was talking about how she was, as his counselor. Because she had to help him indirectly, because he was difficult -- she couldn't convince him to listen when she addressed things directly, so she let him choose and kept feeding him the message indirectly until he was ready to accept it. I'm supposed to make a choice. She said that. That's when she shut down again -- she's a therapist, she wants me to think about this and make a choice, not -- I answered her so automatically that she knew I didn't even think about it."

"She wants you to make a thoughtful choice -- about?"

"About whether or not I want to be her friend. Knowing that it's this hard. Chakotay, I am so stupid," she blurted. "I made an automatic assumption that I could tease her, in the holodeck, and I didn't hear -- she showed me, right there at the table, when she was talking to B'Elanna, how sensitive she is and how much she knows, and I didn't even consider how much she was sensing! How did I worry so much about it and not even think about it from her side? Stupid!"

He chuckled, taking her elbow in his fingers to guide her toward the door. "And now you're doing a great imitation of Picard. Feeling as though you could do anything to change how things go for her, feeling responsible, when all we ever do is be ourselves. That she sometimes suffers for having friends like us is her choice, after all. It's clearly something she feels is worth the effort."

Janeway paused in their walk down the corridor to stare at him anew. "Why have I not figured out until now how wise really are, and listened to you more often?"

"Because you didn't. You're not any more stupid than you were five minutes ago, either." He started walking again, forcing her to follow. "It's interesting that you keep analyzing your relationship with her as if you're on a mission. I suppose it's understandable, though. It's quite a bit different than making friends with a non-empath."

"It's different because she's being so much more open about herself than other empaths or telepaths I've known. I have to learn how to listen to her," she exclaimed. "I was doing all right, and then it all went to hell when I just -- I relaxed too soon. I'm like Annika, oblivious - my God, what was I thinking? I knew, I forgot, and -- what am I going to say? What can I do?"

He strolled down the corridor with her, draping an arm across her shoulders. "Now you're just talking out of the guilt. I think she might be used to this kind of thing. Clearly she's letting you work through it on your own for a reason."

In the lift, she sighed and contemplated, working through the last conversation with Deanna again in her mind, and grimaced. She raised her head and looked at Chakotay.

"There's the decision. Warp speed, Captain."

Janeway smiled, taking his hand. 

They wandered through the gym and found the dojo, a cavernous room full of people in white with various colors of belt. At one end of the room there were a dozen lower-ranked students in rows, counting off as they practiced kicking high. At the nearer end of the room, four blue belts, two brown belts and Deanna were watching a blue belt and a green belt squaring off. Natalia was one of the blue belts in the audience -- she smiled as Janeway caught her eye. 

"The bench," Chakotay said. She turned and saw there were already onlookers sitting on a long bench mounted on the wall to the left of the door they'd come through. Picard sat alone, upright and with crossed arms, as he watched the sparring begin. Neelix, Harry, Tom Paris, and B'Elanna sat together some distance away; she smiled and nodded at them. And then she saw Annika, alone at the other end of the bench, in the far corner. The urge to go to her and reassure her came and went. Janeway decided to leave her alone, as she didn't look upset in any way.

Janeway and Chakotay approached Picard. He glanced up at them, smiled, and returned his attention to the action as Deanna gave the word and the green belt threw a kick at his adversary's head.

"I'm stupid," she murmured, leaning over as she sat next to Picard.

He gave her a look that clearly said 'it's about time' and smirked.

"You could have just told me."

"Because you're not dense like me," he responded.

"That isn't what I said, Jean-Luc."

He heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall. The lines of kicking students switched legs, and resumed kicking. The blue belt landed a punch to the padding on the green belt's head that sent him reeling backward.

"She told you. I told you. It didn't help, did it?"

Janeway exchanged a glance with Chakotay. He shrugged. 

"I'll do better." 

"You'll do fine. She loves you," Picard said simply.

The statement put steel in her spine -- it shocked her, coming from him. Janeway watched Deanna helping the green belt off the floor, and realized that it was Davidson, the counselor. The resident black belt gestured, and Natalia took Davidson's place, raising her fists, stepping back into a ready stance.

There was a brief distraction as deLio arrived, with three adult and four juvenile L'norim that were clearly his family. They passed in front of them to sit on Picard's left. When her attention returned to the fight, Janeway saw that Natalia was holding her own, blocking and punching and kicking, then spun and delivered a heel to the midriff that sent her opponent to the mat. Deanna called a halt and let the fellow get to his feet. 

For the rest of the hour, they watched the students put through their paces, the upper belts directed to aiding the lower belts with their forms and their sparring. Glendenning arrived, with Beverly -- the doctor had brought with her a medkit and a grim expression. Mengis arrived shortly after, with a couple of his staff, a stretcher, and a couple more kits.

"Jean-Luc, is all that necessary?" Janeway asked, turning to the other captain.

"It's standard procedure. Accidents happen. Beverly is just looking out for her own."

Glendenning had a black gi, a black belt, and plenty of energy. He grinned at Janeway, saluted Picard, and jogged over to the corner to punch at a heavy bag suspended between the floor and ceiling. 

Janeway watched the sparring coming to an end, and as the head protection and gloves were coming off, she saw that the sparring blue belt was none other than the mousy Jacoby. She glanced at Jean-Luc, and then down at Annika. Neither of them were paying any attention to him. 

Deanna clapped her hands three times, pointed, and the students moved en masse to the wall at the far end of the room, lining up and dropping to sit against it. She came to stand facing them, feet apart, hands behind her back.

"Captain Glendenning has joined us today for the second half of class time, to demonstrate his sparring style. He believes that he will win."

Laughter and sly looks passed along the line of students. 

"I intend for you to see the result of an ongoing and consistent practice," she continued, her voice echoing in the huge bare-walled room. "I know that mok'bara is frustrating, to those who come to it from Terran forms of martial arts. We do not practice sparring until you advance in rank three times. The foundation you build while learning the kata, the forms, is critical to building strength and control. The fighting is not a free-for-all, moving in reaction to a threat -- it is a purposeful and controlled strategy, and the control you learn, the movements you commit to muscle memory over months of practice, should be at your command without the need for thought. The captain and I will be fighting free style, no scoring, until one of us taps out. Since he knows several styles of karate and kenpo, and I also practice techniques from Vulcan and Betazoid disciplines, you will no doubt see those influences in addition to mok'bara while we spar. In a real battle you would want to immobilize your opponent quickly, reserving energy to defend the next warrior to rise against you. Needless to say, I expect safety gear to be used in class, until you have mastered the ability to control the damage you do."

Deanna turned, advanced to the center of the room and came to attention, hands behind her back. Picard rose and strode out to join her, as Tom came bouncing over. The height disparity was obvious -- Glendenning was head and shoulders taller than his opponent. They faced Picard and saluted, bowing to him slightly, then pivoted to bow to each other -- Tom gave a flourished fancy bow, fist to open hand, his feet doing a little dance move as he stepped forward and back. Deanna leaned stiffly forward in a bow. They each settled into a stance, she with hands at her sides in a slight crouch, he putting his fists up and leaning more into his right leg, left leg behind him.

Picard raised two fingers, hesitated, his hand came down -- and suddenly, he ducked and rolled away, springing up and running back to the bench. The instant his hand started to move, Deanna went into motion, her leg whipping through the air where his head had been. Somehow she sprang high enough while spinning to land a heel firmly on the side of Tom's head -- as he reeled away she landed, feet wide, immediately flinging a backhand at his face, snarling. 

Janeway could tell the presentation was as unsettling as her surprising speed, Tom actually backpedaled, but he caught his balance quickly and, shock of shocks, managed to dodge the punch while bringing his left arm around in a roundhouse to her face. 

But her face wasn't there, and she drove in under his arm, turning, catching his elbow with both hands and using his momentum to fling him forward into a throw. Janeway expected her to do as sparring partners often did, wait for him to get up, but as he rolled, Deanna pressed the attack.

Her kick caught him in the ribs as he came to his feet, knocking him off balance yet again. A fist caught him in the jaw and she whirled in place, her leg uncurling and swinging up to connect with the other side of his head, sending him sprawling at the feet of the doctors waiting near the door. 

Deanna threw her head back and roared a challenge, in perfect Klingon, her braid falling loose down her back.

The students came to their feet -- most of them, a few sat stunned, the newer ones who hadn't seen her fight before, Janeway thought. One of them was Jacoby. The cadet gaped openly.

A movement caught Janeway's eye, so she turned to look at Picard, who'd returned to sit next to her. He'd risen to his feet. "Tom?" he called.

Tom pulled himself to his feet. Janeway saw him mask an expression of pain quickly as he turned to stare at his opponent. "Today is a very good day to die," he called out with manic glee, breaking into a run.

Deanna let him get within an arm's reach and dodged, dropping low then forcing a shoulder against his thigh as she lunged to her feet, throwing him forward and to his right -- he couldn't get his leg free of her fast enough to avoid her grabbing his ankle and spinning, bending, following through in a peculiar spiral and curl of her body that flipped him around and left him on his back on the floor as she pivoted with arm raised. Another roar from her, as she brought her elbow down with commitment.

The class yelled and screamed as Tom tried to get away. The elbow struck his ribs instead of his stomach, glancing off, and he grabbed at her -- she reversed and left him sitting there holding her gi, her belt fallen to the floor. She dropped into a stance, waiting, hands open and hanging at her sides. Her sides heaved visibly, her skin had a sheen of sweat, and Janeway finally got a look at her face -- she wore a slight sneer. She showed no concern that she now faced her foe in just her pants and a black bra with a hint of lace at the hems. 

Tom got up and danced around her, tossing her shirt toward the bench, and she turned in place, orienting on him while he contemplated his next move. Her eyes were closed, Janeway noticed with a jolt.

"Jean-Luc?" she blurted, turning to him. 

"She has better focus with her eyes closed," he replied, not taking his eyes off the two -- he leaned forward, intent on the feinting pair.

Tom made a decision and moved -- a dart right, and as Deanna responded with a lunge he went left and his arm shot out to grab, not strike, but the instant he changed direction her foot went down, her arms tucked in, her other leg flew around and a solid crack accompanied a knee to the ribs that crumpled the captain. 

Deanna backed away then, her eyes opening. Picard stood and approached slowly while Tom rolled on his back muttering his usual refrain of "shit, shit, shit, damn" and Beverly grimly came forward. 

Picard watched her run the tricorder and leaned to look Tom in the eye. "Done?"

"Cracked ribs, Tom," Beverly said, warning in her voice.

"No," he said, rolling to his knee. But the wince as he tried to stand said it all. "Yes. Out."

"deLio," Deanna sang out as Beverly helped her captain stand and moved him over to the bench. Mengis had pulled out one of the kits and had instruments ready for her. 

The L'norim came out from the bench and settled into the standard fists-up stance. He showed a calm that spoke to why Picard had chosen him for security chief. 

"Tuvok," Deanna called. Janeway's head swiveled -- she stared at Chakotay, shocked, and then watched her security chief enter the room. He wore a white gi as well, and bowed to Deanna before dropping into a ready stance.

Picard backed away this time before he said, "Begin."

What followed was absolutely inhuman. The flow of the fight was hard to follow -- Deanna would kick, or punch, and it seemed to be only preliminary, to lure in a response which would set up her real strike, which occurred in such a fluid and immediate manner that it was impossible to track. 

"How is she doing this?" Janeway exclaimed finally, leaning to be heard over the shouts of students cheering on their favorite. There were several calling out for deLio, lauding when the L'norim landed a punch or kick on the whirling Betazoid.

"Lots of practice and empathy," Picard replied. "Our away mission would have been completely different, had Kes not been too close for comfort."

"What? How --"

The sound of a body slamming to the mat brought her attention back to the fight -- Tuvok had landed solidly on his back. He was rolling and getting to his feet in a practiced motion but deLio staggered into him and knocked him down again, reeling after Deanna had used his momentum against him, tossing him after Tuvok. The L'norim rebounded and bounced right, high in the air, landing and immediately springing over Deanna's head -- her hand shot up and she yanked him out of the air by the front of his gi, and deLio crashed to the mat. Janeway was sure she hadn't even looked at him. He had the opportunity to get up only because Tuvok pressed the attack, driving a heel at Deanna's abdomen. She threw his leg away, tipping him off balance, reacting with blinding speed that human eyes had difficulty tracking.

The fight continued for another five minutes. She made clear that she knew her current opponents were more durable than a human would be, and they in turn proved it by coming back for more within seconds of being thrown. It became obvious that she was tiring, though she held her own for longer than Janeway thought she could. Then Picard shouted "Time!" and it led to students leaping, shouting, gesturing with fists. 

Meanwhile, Janeway sat with her first officer trying to sort out how to react to it. She looked down the bench at Torres, Paris, Neelix, and Kim -- it was obvious that they were just as stunned. Annika, still sitting in the corner, had a blank expression as she stared long and hard at the people in the center of the room.

Picard had gone to join the fighters, and had a brief exchange with the Vulcan and the L'norim. Both gave a head shake while they spoke and looked at Deanna, who waited to one side, her braid starting to come undone, still breathing hard. Picard held out a hand to her -- smiling, she surprised Janeway by running at Picard, leaping, and Jean-Luc caught her around the knees as she turned and came down seated on his shoulder -- he hugged her legs to his chest and walked in a circle as her students went mad, rushing the captain while Deanna raised her arms and sang out a Klingon victory cry.

Tom, his ribs now wrapped up temporarily so he could get to sickbay and a bone regeneration unit on his own, walked carefully out as Deanna slid down to land on her feet on the floor. She threw her arms around his neck as he hugged her and kissed her cheek. Deanna patted his shoulder as she withdrew. 

Then she stepped apart from the chaos of the crowd, stuck her fingers in her mouth, and whistled once, loudly. Abruptly the calls and shouts ceased. Students raced around and formed a neat line, from white belt to brown, extending the length of the room. Picard moved out of the way with Tom as Deanna faced her class. She bowed, and as one the row of students bowed in response, and she shouted, "Dismissed!"

In short order, the room emptied out -- no one dawdled. The L'norim family filed out after deLio, the children bouncing over to circle Picard before loping after their parents. Tuvok left as well. Natalia headed for Annika, in the corner, answering the question of why she was there -- the lieutenant walked her out of the room without stopping to talk to anyone. Yes, there was a change in the status quo. Annika was on probation. Janeway wondered if the short cut of Picard ordering her to straighten up and stop being irrational would hold for long.

"That answers the question of why people avoid her class," Chakotay commented as Paris, Torres and Kim approached. Neelix seemed a little flustered and skittered by them, shooting Janeway a tentative smile. 

"That didn't look like mok'bara as I know it," Torres said. She was in civvies as were her companions. Crossing her bare arms, she watched Troi -- the commander had called back one of the cadets. Jacoby, Janeway realized. The young man held himself stiffly at attention, fairly vibrating with tension. 

"She did say she practiced other martial arts," Chakotay said, watching Picard and Glendenning join them. "I can see why she's teaching. I sort of wish I could join her class, but I'm not sure I'd survive."

"She's surpassed her original teacher." Picard smiled, clearly proud of her. "The danger is of course most obvious when she's asleep. One nightmare and I'm in sickbay."

Chakotay laughed at it easily, and the younger officers gave them a look that clearly said they were shocked. It didn't go unnoticed. Picard glanced sidelong at them, and stared at Janeway. 

"A moment, captains?" she said, gesturing, and Tom followed Picard as she moved them off to the left, apart from the others. 

"Are you all right, Tom?" she asked seriously.

The sweaty captain grinned, rolling up his black belt, his gi falling open to reveal the black tank top under it. "Sure. It was worth every ache. I used to beat her, y'know. She's gotten a lot stronger -- think I'll be letting the Vulcans take her on from now on, she's clearly out of my league."

"Tom, she broke bones," Janeway exclaimed.

He lost the grin, mostly. "By accident. Cracked, not broken. That's not how it usually goes. I worked hard, and she pushed back hard, but I'm too slow these days. She sensed I was starting to dodge or she wouldn't have thrown her knee so hard. That's why I'm quitting while I'm ahead."

"Fighting without gear -- "

"Oh, come on, Janeway," Tom exclaimed. "We don't do things like this to hurt each other -- she has a lot better control than my security officer, who as you can verify easily beats the living shit out of me every week."

"It's one thing to do this sort of thing in the line of duty, it's another to actually hurt someone in a dojo. Do you really think this is a good example to set?"

Picard looked like he had a few choice words, but he crossed his arms and said nothing.

"We can't afford to be hurting ourselves, when there are so many other -- "

"Kathryn, what does this situation remind you of?" Picard asked.

It caught her off guard, but a memory did come to mind. She shut her mouth tight over the confession of her anger at B'Elanna for the extreme, needless risks she'd pushed herself to face on the holodeck with the safety off. Now she had to fight angry disappointment that she wasn't done with trauma, after all.

"Verly's giving me the look -- got to go let her stick me back together. See you later, Jean-Luc. Hope you get that trauma treated, Kath." Tom winced off to follow his doctor from the dojo.

Janeway glanced at her officers to find they had left -- including Chakotay. Deanna was tying her belt around her gi, strolling over to them. "Greg yelled at me quietly about jumping on you. I'm sorry, Jean-Luc. You didn't mention catching flying women was on your list of forbidden activities."

"He told me not to chase naked Betazoids. You'll note that I did not in fact chase you, nor were you naked."

Janeway couldn't smile at it, though it put a happy light in Deanna's eyes and a smile on her lips. 

Picard sighed. "What is Jacoby up to now?"

"I think we may have found the way to shift his perspective." Deanna lost the affectionate smile, and the warmth in her voice. "He had the blue belt when he came aboard, and he had a swagger when he came to class today. His first with me -- he's been attending deLio's afternoon class. He joined today because some of deLio's students wanted to see the demonstration and deLio told them he was fighting. From his mood when he came in, and while he was sparring, I would suppose he believed he would see me defeated soundly. He even invited me to spar with him. I informed him that I do not allow more than two belt ranks between sparring partners, and that he could spar with green or purple belts, but not higher than green. He didn't like that. My first kick, the one you dodged, knocked him flat, metaphorically speaking."

"So I don't need to toss him in an airlock?"

Deanna shook her head, smiling ruefully. "I dislike that this is what impressed him. I shouldn't have to be capable of killing someone with my foot to have his respect. But it may have started him on a road to other things."

"Good. I'll look forward to hopefully see him evolve, at some point." Picard turned to go. "I'll be in quarters, setting up the salon. Your hair's a mess."

Deanna smiled fondly and watched him go out the door. She faced Janeway, squaring her shoulders. "You have a look of someone who needs a cup of coffee. I think I need one, too."

Janeway walked with her from the dojo, and onward from the gym. The flow of pedestrians tapered off as they went farther from the facility toward a turbolift.

"I thought about it, Deanna. I don't like that I'm having an issue with boundaries, where I thought I'd worked it out before. And I don't like that I lost sight of how you are affected by the emotions of those around you, and made things worse for you. I don't like that Jean-Luc felt that he had to protect you from me. Please help me understand how to fix this. I know you know how I feel, all the time. I know I wasn't hearing the message you were trying to give me. I missed all those cues, in the holodeck, the difficulties you were having coping with Annika. You needed time off, to enjoy and relax. I want to do that with you."

Janeway stopped walking. Deanna stopped a few steps later, turning to look back her solemnly.

"I am too loose," she said softly. "I started to let the captain interfere. I tried to intervene instead of letting Annika be and staying in the holodeck with friends, focusing on being a friend. I forced you to deal with Annika's feelings while you were off duty. I started making mistakes when you released me from medical leave, when I wasn't just a friend any more. I started making declarations and deciding the way things should be, and being a captain, when I should be more open and reciprocal."

"I'm not really handling Annika as an officer," Deanna said.

"But you are, in a way. You do it during the day. When you're on duty. Just like you do with the patients that Command sends you. It isn't fair, of them or of me, to expect you to do that, but you do it just the same." Janeway's hands went to her hips. "So I need to find out what's the captain, and what's me. So I can stop being the captain when we're off duty."

"But you are the captain."

Janeway tried to respond to that, but found the words weren't there. "Jean-Luc did this. So can I. Even if I have to resort to that convoluted process of approaching it, that I thought wasn't necessary."

"You need to understand what you are to Annika, and I think the rest will fall into place. Not everything is that blurred. Your senior officers will all self-correct." 

"I also need to not be so much myself, when I'm supposed to be the captain," Janeway said. "Because looking back at everything, I see some things that I was so emotionally involved with -- there was something there, that prompted me to take on Seven of Nine. It wasn't just altruistic. There was something about her that triggered a desire to help her. Maybe I was caught up in all the trauma reaction, and not seeing so clearly. We didn't have resources to spare, and she didn't have resources at all. It was like trying to adopt a child without having enough to eat for ourselves. I was so determined to keep her instead of giving her the choice to return to the Collective, the way Jean-Luc did.... Were they right, the times I took side trips to explore? Should I have focused on getting home and not used the resources for that?"

It resonated, and Janeway looked up from the regulation gray carpet at Deanna, who had tucked her hands into the loose sleeves of the gi and stood watching her with a fathomless expression.

"I can't regret taking her with us. But I can be more self aware, and I can be a better friend to you. And I'm going to be a better captain, for my crew."

Deanna smiled, finally.

"That's what you've been waiting for me to recognize, isn't it?"

"Kathryn, I am only trying to be a friend. Perhaps Jean-Luc has been reminded so often of Counselor Troi, because that part of me is recognizing that you needed some of that kind of support, and the friend that I am is providing some of that to you. A non-judgmental ear is hard to find, because it's hard for friends who are not trained in mental health services to provide. I recognize too that I'm doing it when conversations with you become like this -- you perceive that I'm assessing, guiding, or even pushing you to some end."

"But Jean-Luc has been doing it too, some of the time. Like the conversation we had this morning, while you were changing."

Deanna tilted her head, thinking. "Did Jean-Luc say something to you about all this?"

"He told me how you tried to get him to understand how to handle his emotions. Or relationships. He talked about how you got your message across to him even though he.... I'm making you angry."

Deanna blinked, the furrow between her brows vanishing. "Have you ever been in therapy? I'm not talking about assessments, or evaluations. Ongoing, weekly therapy."

"Well, yes -- to deal with some of the things that happened during the Cardassian War. Why?"

"Insight therapy is not educational in the sense that you are taught what to do, or given answers. It's a process of having someone to reflect back to you what to bring into it, to amplify emotions or elicit issues you've suppressed or ignored, to help you recognize and deal with them. Avoidance is a very common way that humans deal with such things. Dealing with trauma is focused on that incident that caused the symptoms. Therapy not handling a specific condition is more about what the client brings into the room. The client finds his or her own answers. Shame on him, forgetting that."

"So you're saying he gave himself his own message. Is that what I'm doing?"

Deanna frowned again. "You're giving me a headache, at the moment. Talk later. Food now." She turned and headed into the lift. Janeway came with her, starting to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempting to describe martial arts for people who don't do them can be fun. Most of what's said about mok'bara is made up -- in TNG it looked a whole lot like Tai Chi, but if it's Klingon, I reasoned there must be more to it than that.
> 
> Trauma does not just stop or go away. It gets better incrementally. Life, relationships, are not binary and not easy to tie up with a bow, in the way a lot of fiction does.


	34. Chapter 34

Picard looked up from the status report he'd been reading when the door opened, and set the padd aside. "Lunch?"

"If you don't mind? I should go change -- I have a day of work to somehow finish by the end of the shift." Deanna came to him instead of heading to do that, and threw her arms around him.

"I love you too," he said.

"You need to think about what you say to Kathryn," she murmured against his ear.

"What did I do now?"

She stepped back, happily glowing at him and patting his shoulder before turning to go to the bedroom. "Nothing detrimental. You generally have good instincts, but you should stop talking about your own therapy."

While she was changing, he got salad and beverages for both of them. As he set the table the door opened again. This time, he turned to find Cordelia approaching, arms raised. Without questioning it he picked her up, wrapping her in his arms and carrying her over to the easy chair.

"And what are you doing here, mon petit chou?"

"Are you okay, Papa?" Her breath smelled of something sweet.

"Oh, in fact, I let Mr. Pogs go back to your room, to wait for you. I'm much better now. Tired?"

She felt like a dead weight already, draped across his chest with an arm curled up around his neck. "Yes."

"How did you get back from _Venture_?"

"I asked the bug to transport me home."

He sighed, at first assuming she was being five and imaginative, but then remembered Tom's transporter chief was in fact insectoid. "Well, wasn't he nice, helping you do that."

When Deanna returned and looked down at them, she sighed and tapped her badge. "Troi to Glendenning."

"Hey, there, gorgeous. I'm supposed to tell you I'm quitting karate."

"That's not why I'm calling. I think you're getting a little careless with your transporter room protocols. Cordelia's over here falling asleep."

"Your transporter chief obeys orders given by five-year-olds," Picard put in.

"Well, damn that Zhezwinn anyway. I'll have to teach him what a kid is, I guess. I bet Gorshavin don't figure that out on their own. In fact -- I guess I never did make that too clear, what to do about minors, since they don't tend to try giving orders, and I'd also suppose Data wouldn't have thought of doing that either. We'll clear that one up. Want to send her back over?"

"No, I'll let her have a nap before I send her back. If she wants to go. Thanks, Tom."

After the connection was terminated, Picard went to put Cordie in her bed. Returning to sit down to eat, he sighed. "I wonder if we'll have to retrain all of them. She's acting like she hasn't slept in two days."

"I gave Phoebe a specific schedule to follow. It's more likely that Cordelia is having difficulty sleeping." Deanna considered it for a moment. "That's going to happen, I think, if they spend a lot of time away from us. Or away from Mother. There's a very subtle telepathic connection, between Betazoid family and their children, remember." She grinned, even chuckled a little. "How like a little Picard to figure out a loophole to exploit, to get what she wants."

"Cordelia is guileless -- you know she just walked in there and asked sweetly to go home to her papa."

They talked about ship's business, particularly the mission they would be returning to, making it apparent that they both knew the time was almost upon them to go forward in time again.

"I should go," she said at last.

"I'm sure your CO would want you to be looking at updating protocols regarding minors on this ship."

Deanna laughed at him and kissed his forehead before turning to go. "Have fun this afternoon. You and all your girlfriends."

He smiled, raised his glass to her in salute, and watched her walk -- the doors opened, and his oh-one-hundred hours appointment jumped backward in surprise, her arm dropping. Naomi had obviously been about to push the annunciator for permission to enter.

"Oh, Commander, have you met the new captain's assistant?" he said.

"I'm glad you're here, Naomi, we needed the extra help," Deanna said, waving the girl into the room, and then she strode out and turned toward the nearest lift.

Naomi came in slowly, her eyes traveling around the room, taking it all in, and held out the padd eagerly.

"That was fast. I see we're in good hands," he commented, scrolling through the essay she'd completed. He refrained from comparing it to ones cadets had written.

At least, he refrained from doing it aloud.

"So why don't you have a seat," he said, moving from the table to the couch, "and let's talk about this a little more. You're suggesting we change the school schedule, to allow for children to take jobs in the different departments?"

Naomi followed him and perched eagerly on the edge of a cushion, and smiled -- it would have been a beguiling one, if Amy hadn't used a similar one so often to get her way. "I think it would help. It's never too early to train to be an officer."

"I suppose one could make the case that it would help children decide whether they would like to attend Starfleet Academy," he said, trying not to smile too much and give her the idea he was laughing at her idea.

Then again, if it was such a positive experience for her.... Perhaps there was something to this idea, after all.

"I'm going to talk to the department heads, get their feedback. I like to get other opinions before I make such serious decisions. I suppose we're doing well here on the _Enterprise_ if this was the only deficiency you could find?" He had asked her for suggestions, without really thinking much about it. Letting her continue as 'captain's assistant' had made the bridge crew grin, but he found that it wasn't so bothersome to him as it had been before he had children. At some point, it had become clear that such amusement was more about the child, than it was officers laughing at his expense.

Naomi beamed and wriggled, her shoulders going back, proud of herself. "What's my next assignment?"

"I'm going to put your services on loan to Dr. Mengis, because I think that department could use some help. I'd like you to make an appointment with him and discuss how things work in sickbay, and then you can assess and share your findings with us for consideration." The look on Greg's face would be priceless -- though surely the list would become longer, it would be worth it. And Greg had proven to be quite good with children, almost as indulgent as Picard.

"Okay," Naomi chirped. He hadn't thought she could be happier, but he was wrong.

They were interrupted by Cordelia racing out, her hair flying as usual, and she stopped before she got to him -- the potential of a playmate had disrupted her headlong pursuit of a hug. "Hi Naomi!"

"Hi Cordelia! I thought you were visiting someone?" Naomi sobered slightly. "Sir, after I make the appointment, can I come back and play with Cordelia?"

"Oh -- I was going to say that you should wait until tomorrow morning, to talk to Dr. Mengis about the appointment. Sickbay is very busy today," he lied, shamelessly, thankful there weren't any empaths home at the moment. "Cordelia has an extensive collection of games. They need to be inventoried."

He had a reprieve, while the inventory was conducted in the kids' rooms, and they returned with a list -- after a vote was taken Cordelia helped their guest set up a Betazoid game that involved lots of colored pieces and a multi-level game board on the table, after he cleared it of lunch dishes.

Instructions were being discussed when the annunciator went off. Janeway, in uniform and her hair up in a bun, arrived. She smiled at the sight of the two girls. "Well, hello!"

Hugs were exchanged, and Cordelia returned to the couch while Naomi happily informed her former employer of her current duties, then invited her to play with them.

"Actually, I'm here to talk to Captain Picard," Janeway said, showing a little regret for not being available to play.

Picard glanced at Cordelia. She was used to this sort of thing -- she gave him a smile, slid off her chair, and started to move the game. Naomi helped her without being asked, carrying the tall rack of board pieces while Cordelia brought the box full of game pieces. They disappeared into the kids' rooms, presumably to the one she shared with Jean-Pierre.

"Am I being taken to task for something else?"

Despite the lack of actual reproach in his tone, it seemed to make the point. After so many decades of service as a captain, after at times even being appointed fleet captain when a large scale space battle was nigh, her questioning his judgment earlier had irritated him. Janeway stared at him for a moment, wavering -- trying to read him, he realized. He gazed at her calmly, waiting it out.

"I meant no disrespect," she said finally. "It simply struck me that -- but you were correct. It reminded me of... a crew member who started to react negatively, to the news that the Maquis were all gone. A grief reaction. It had an impact, obviously. More of one than I'd thought. I was going to ask for Deanna's help with it, but now, it just seems too much to expect. I can't let her deplete herself again."

"She promised me that she wouldn't allow herself to get into the situation again. Generally, I've found her to be able to manage without my help. She needed a reminder, as we all so often do, that it's too easy to give more than we should, when we're living this kind of life -- in the service of the Federation."

Janeway seemed to be turning that over in her mind with more effort than he expected. "I wanted to talk to you about boundaries."

"Mine, or yours?"

She rolled her eyes, closing them briefly. "Both."

"I've already violated medical leave today just speaking to you as the captain, so in for a penny."

"You see that. I didn't even think of it. It's like you're always perfectly aware of taking off rank and putting it on just from one sentence to another."

At least she was putting more effort into dissecting the issues that led to her behavior the previous evening. He sighed, relaxing his shoulders, and smiled. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, but thank you." She blinked, appraising him again. "That wasn't the captain?"

"Correct."

"So... if it was, what would you have done instead, if we were in the ready room? I don't remember how you offered, when I was there last."

"It's not a matter of what's said. More how it's said. I'm not sure that's going to help you, however. It was an awkward process, at the start. I had to get it all straight, post-interaction, to start to make it work the other direction. For a while, I couldn't even call her by name above deck three, unless it was blazingly obvious that we were talking about personal business. It was comic when Data left and she took that role -- I started calling her Data. She had to kick my ass about asking her to do computations the way he could do. I get too set in my ways."

"So, practice." Her expression of defeat surprised him.

"You're giving up hope."

Her eyes came up, wide. "I thought the empath left?"

"Kathryn, you clearly have an idea you can just do things, without any difficulties whatsoever, if someone would just give you instructions." Rather than confess that he'd made that mistake in the distant past, he remembered Deanna's chiding and avoided personalizing.

"I just was not expecting the difficulty to be with her. But now that it happened, and I think I have an understanding, to my surprise it does look as though I don't have the clarity on this point despite having no trouble whatsoever with Chakotay. The opposite, in fact. He helped me understand that I'm going to have to work a little harder on being clear as to where my motivation is, which side of me I'm using to make a decision. It just seemed too silly and contrived, to think of myself as two people."

"That advice came from a psychologist who was well versed in Starfleet officers and their idiosyncrasies."

Janeway sat, hands in her lap, deep in thought. He let her do that. Distantly, he heard Naomi and Cordelia laughing.

"Perhaps," he began, and realized where it would go. But she looked at him with such avid interest, he considered and decided that it wouldn't have anything to do with Deanna.

"Perhaps it wasn't so much that I had two sides of myself, as it was that I had to add one to what was already there. Remember when Beverly teased me about not having a childhood? I think I was Cordelia's age when I figured it out, what I would do, and it stuck. I went into motion and didn't stop on that track until I walked into Ten Forward and restarted the conversation with Deanna."

"I don't buy it."

"Surely you've heard, I was terrified of children -- my best friend had to find a godfather for his son, because he knew better than to saddle me with him." He snorted -- inclined his head toward the children's bedrooms. "And now I have five-year-old Cordelia Picard, who blithely marches into a transporter room and orders Glendenning's transporter chief to send her to see her father, thank you. Having identified this security risk I now have my first officer childproofing the ship."

Her head came up -- she'd thought of something. "Did you actually order children to stop crying?"

"Good God, who told you that," he blurted. Then he snorted. "That was -- not so long ago. It feels like it was."

"Don't start calling yourself stupid. It gets you into trouble."

"I wonder where those children are?" he murmured, thinking about it. Had he ever apologized?

"You're trying to tell me that I can't just go by how you managed to figure it out -- I wasn't that way. I think I'm quite the opposite. Too comfortable."

"That sounded like regret."

Her expression gave him the impression she was thinking furiously. "Deanna said something... something about how I was at a disadvantage, because my first ship was thrown across the galaxy, and I didn't have the support of other captains. I thought it was -- frankly, it seemed ridiculous. Yet here I am. Trying to get help."

"Not having support probably was a major contributor to the problem you have now."

Now she raised a disdainful eyebrow. "I'm having a little difficulty seeing you consulting with anyone, when you were promoted."

He winced, smiling through it. "That's not what I mean at all. As I recall, you lost your original officers, or most of them. Replaced them with Maquis. And you didn't have admirals -- they were captains, before they settled down to tell captains where to go. I do not contest that we all turn into little dictators -- we're led to believe that's what we should be. But I learned quickly that wasn't all there was to it. We learn to balance ourselves. Humility was not my habit."

"Is it a habit any of us can afford to indulge? There were times I felt... it feels so -- so vulnerable saying it, but I've had moments where I would have given anything, anything at all, to have an admiral or -- or you, to report to, to get feedback and advice and be reassured that I was doing the right thing. But I knew that if I showed doubt, insecurity, it would compromise my ability to command -- I had difficulty seeing how much to seek counsel, how much to keep to myself." She sighed, deeply. "And that would be what Deanna meant. You had moments like that. All human captains would."

He considered the situation, what she was saying, and sighed. She seemed to be open now to discussion of sensitive topics. It might be the right time. His instructions had been clear on this point, not to divulge, not to confront, because she wouldn't be receptive, but perhaps this was proof that they had succeeded in shifting the time loop off its course to failure. Perhaps his instructions from her were now moot.

"Perhaps you are analyzing the wrong difficulty."

"The wrong...."

"Last night, on the holodeck. You teased Deanna, telling her to stop making Annika jealous."

"I've been thinking about that, regretting it, because of how she reacted. I expected her to laugh at it. It was so ridiculous, the way Annika reacted -- so absurd." She lapsed into deep thought again, frowning, a distant look in her eye.

"But you felt the need to address Annika's reaction, just the same."

"She needs so much guidance. I guess it was just that I'd always been the one, helping her. She didn't seem to have any respect for other members of the crew, and we had no counselor -- it was my decision that brought her aboard, severed her from the Collective. I didn't think it was fair to ask anyone else to bear the brunt of her bad temper, her ignorant and irrational demands."

Picard almost sighed again. He tried to avoid reacting to it. She was correct in that she had an issue with boundaries, but it wasn't anything to do with fraternization, though that would be compromised as well if she couldn't clear this up.

"Why did you decide she needed to be separated from the Collective?"

"Well, she was the liaison between us and the Borg. She was aboard _Voyager_ , when we successfully dealt with the threat of Species 8472. She was on the bridge when the Borg turned against us -- we'd expected it. I wasn't certain how she would react, what she would do -- we removed implants, the Doctor worked hard to restore her, because she became our responsibility from that point. I knew she might decide to return to the Collective, but we offered her the chance."

"How hard did you work to persuade her to stay?"

"I felt that if she was to have a fair chance at an independent choice, we had to help her stabilize. I feel so horrible, that we missed that implant and the influence it had -- she was at the point of no return, her body rejecting Borg technology, but she was so obviously unable to think straight. We made... I made the decision to continue to recover her, help her be human. It seemed the only humane thing to do."

"Did she reach a point that you recognized she could make a reasoned choice on her own behalf, or did you continue to assume her willing participation in your crew?"

"I -- " Janeway considered the question for a while. Her eyes met his again, startled. "I assumed. She behaved as though she intended to be, but we never discussed it explicitly in any depth. What are you thinking?"

"I have four children. I don't let them make decisions for themselves, beyond what game they want to play or what they want for dessert. Sometimes we have to pick their clothes in the interests of being on time to school."

Janeway sighed heavily. "So if you had been in the situation, with her, what would you have done? Not the same thing you did with Hugh, certainly."

Picard thought about it -- the discussion he'd had with that Janeway he remembered had been revealing in a number of ways. He had accessed logs, following their conversation. He knew Annika had been furious -- likely a secondary reaction to extreme fear, of being separated from the Borg. He knew Janeway had argued with her, cajoled her, encouraged her, enlisted her and prevented her from contacting the Collective.

"Federation law maintains that when an individual has reached the age of majority for their species, they are autonomous, able to make their own decisions save in the instance of a clear case of mental illness. The Borg are considered a different matter. Following the incident with Hugh, I was taken to the woodshed by the fleet admiral for not taking advantage of the opportunity to create a Trojan horse, to destroy the Collective. The following experience with severed Borg proved that such an attempt would be futile -- clearly the Collective is not so easily influenced by a single drone. But -- it remains that Command has an agenda, regarding the Borg. I would have given the situation consideration, with the added concern of the ship's location and the imperative of getting my crew and vessel back to the Federation. Proximity to Borg territory and the opportunity to obtain intelligence, to better inform countermeasures in the works, might have been a factor."

"You would have been that dispassionate," she murmured, looking away, clearly dismayed.

"It would not have been my first command. You are asking me a question while I am in my third ship, after twenty-two years on the _Stargazer_ , eight years on the fourth incarnation of the _Enterprise_ and more than fifteen years on the current one. You would have had a very different answer from me, had you asked me in the first years of my first command."

"But I didn't -- you have a family. You have your wife, your children, and such good friends, in your senior officers here. When I looked at Seven of Nine, thought about how she had been taken from her parents and turned into a drone, all I could think about was how tragic it was that a six-year-old girl had been tortured that way. She was so obviously lost, terrified, and I couldn't just leave her, or let her return to a life of slavery."

"And so you attempted to assimilate her, into your family. It's what you call your crew. I admit to doing the same, but I suspect that emotionally it means something very different, for me. The Starfleet family is not the same as a nuclear family -- as parents and children. It wouldn't even occur to me to feel that they are. You seem to extend the same affection to crew who are not actually friends, as you do to those close to you."

"Oh, dear," she muttered, propping her elbow on the back of the couch, pressing fingertips to her brow. "My father said something.... Long, long ago, he said something about this."

"Admiral Janeway was a fine man. I didn't know him well, however. Mostly by reputation. I understand you were on the same mission when he died?"

Her eyes went sad, more so than he'd yet seen from her. "Yes. Along with my fiance at the time. I was so, so young."

"I would suppose that he gave you advice, even before the Academy. About Starfleet?"

"I think I always knew that's where I would go. It was more of a given, for me than for you."

"Oh, I had to maintain direction and purpose against my own father. He hated that I wanted to go. He had such disdain for the choice. Starfleet was your culture. You had no problems assimilating into it. I had to develop that persona, deliberately, making choices that were blind to any other potential part of life. I set aside relationships of a personal nature, so completely, until later as a first officer -- I started to relax. Then my best friend died in the line of duty and I built up the walls, again, intuitively deciding that such relationships were in opposition to a solid and successful Starfleet career. No such distractions for me. That was where I was, when I took the _Enterprise_. A ship full of families. Not what I'd expected."

"Starfleet is evolving," she said, with a smile that told him she thought she had it.

"How do you think Deanna was reacting to you, last night? What do you think she was feeling?"

It threw her again into confusion. She frowned. When words failed her, he continued.

"Do you think she reacted more as a friend? Or was she reacting perhaps out of that side of her that's been attempting to help you work through all this trauma and also to help Annika, in a similar but more clinical fashion? The officer who looks at another officer, and wants to help that sister or brother in the service? It was the same sort of motivation for me, for a long time -- whenever a shipmate was in need of help but such help had to take place perhaps outside the context of a specific mission."

"She told me -- that's what she meant! She told me that she's recognized that some of our conversations have brought out the counselor in her." Janeway paused, inhaled, sat up straighter. "You're saying that I'm muddled up with boundary issues because of two things -- my sense of family differs, thanks to being a Starfleet brat, and I'm emotionally overinvolved in a personal way because of this. It's been a part of me, all my life. And I'm not a seasoned captain."

He held up a hand to keep her from extrapolating too much. "How do you think she reacted?"

Another moment of contemplation. "Disappointed. Because she thought she -- oh. Oh!"

Picard waited for a moment or two, hoping.

"She spent all this time helping me," Janeway exclaimed, anger creeping in. "She thought I understood and I didn't, and she felt like it was her fault. Because even though it isn't duty that drives her to help me, but friendship, that's a place the boundaries blur. The duty to a fellow officer. That's why I had difficulty seeing what you were both telling me. You're trying to tell me that I would have had a better grasp of this factor, as I gained more experience in service. If I had had more therapy, more experience, more time facing these sorts of conflicts between the roles -- I would have had less difficulty deciding what to do about Annika. I would have -- you, you would have allowed her to go back to the Collective. You would have prioritized the ship and crew, and her autonomy as an individual adult."

"Unless the counselor's assessment indicated there were reasons to do something else. Documented the result of the assessment, and justified the expenditure of resources that should have been available to personnel. In the absence of a counselor, the doctor."

"My God," she whispered. "What was I thinking? How did I come to that decision?"

"With conviction and a sense of purpose in line with your values."

"I should have listened to Chakotay, found another way. I shouldn't have bargained with the devil."

"You should remember that this is all in the past."

"But Command will review it all. Command will decide whether it was the right thing, or review and court-martial -- won't they?" Janeway stared at him intently. "Jean-Luc, you must tell me what I requested of you. What led me to request your help in the first place? What have I done?"

Her anguish was plain, and familiar enough. He grimaced. And he suspected, and was proved correct, that Deanna would be along any time -- she came flooding into his awareness, the sensations of an embrace and a reassurance, that things would resolve and they would be all right. A moment of joint consideration of the request, and he sighed.

"You requested that I make you aware that fraternizing is not a dire mistake, merely a choice whose outcome depends upon the execution. You asked me to take steps to keep Seven of Nine from staying aboard. You asked me not to give you details beyond that."

"But I had to give you more details than that, to convince you. You don't act without reasons! You didn't do all of this just on a request. You don't make decisions based on emotional appeals, as an officer. It's got something to do with... something she does. Something Annika will do, if she goes with us. Something that prevents a favorable future for the Federation!"

Closing his eyes, he sent an appeal to Deanna, and waited. She spent a little time with him and felt sympathy. But she gave him nothing. When he opened his eyes again, Janeway waited with a beseeching expression that hoped for what she wanted.

"You made a decision to help her based on your assessment of her inability to make rational choices for herself, which was all the assessment that you could make with only an EMH and no counselor, and absolutely no way to access information from Federation databases to inform your decision. An EMH has no emotions, no instinct, and both are absolutely necessary to the function of a mental health or medical professional assessing emotional well being. You did help her but only to a point -- without the assistance of someone trained in addressing such complicated and severe trauma, someone with instinct to respond in an appropriate manner to Seven's aggression and fear, there would have been no way for you do anything else. Had we not taken her from _Voyager_ she would have lost control under extreme pressure, in the middle of a heated battle with a Beta Quadrant species during an engine malfunction. She disagreed with Torres on a course of action, lashed out in a rage, and killed her, then killed herself moments later, out of anguish and guilt. She used a phaser. The beam damages components and controls that further complicate repairs and injures another member of the crew. The fallout -- ejection of the warp core, which was subsequently stolen, other officers losing faith and crew losing confidence lead to smaller disasters and deficiencies, and your own emotional instability due to trauma and the ensuing complications that impact the crew result in your court-martial and dismissal from Starfleet. In the larger context of Starfleet, recruitment lags, things get worse as officers leave, since your return in disgrace is compounded by another incident with another vessel in the Gamma Quadrant. You were alone, on Betazed. I met you at a park taking a walk while Deanna was visiting a friend and the kids were with her mother -- the park was not far from the facility in which you were receiving intensive treatment for post traumatic stress disorder and depression. You and some of your fellow patients were at the swimming pool, and you called my name as I walked by. You did not warrant referral to Deanna for treatment later, after she develops the technique, as your dismissal removed that possibility. There were of course other empaths on Betazed -- but she hadn't taught it to anyone yet as she develops the technique a few years later. You were, by the time it was available as an option to you, too far gone. Too damaged. A shadow of your former self."

Her chin dropped -- her shock took a while to recover from, and she actually put her hands to the side of her head and hunched over in pain, reeling. Picard stiffened, feeling sympathy and resisting reacting to her, as Deanna pushed back into his awareness -- she'd been there all along, just below the threshold of his awareness no doubt, as she understood what he was doing.

"This is a loop," he reminded her. "I had instructions from myself, as well. And as we've progressed through this iteration, it made sense to me, what I had sent ahead -- we are matched, you and I, in conviction and in the stubborn adherence to what we believe to be necessary at the time. I made a decision long ago that in temporal quandaries, I refuse to bow to predestination and the dubious advice of time travelers who present themselves as experts in what should happen. That includes you -- I know you requested to be kept in the dark. But I see you, now, being able to hear what I have to say -- " He smiled, thinking of how far he'd come, feeling Deanna's pride in him as he thought about it. He wouldn't have recognized this, before. "I can see that you are ready, emotionally, to take in what I am telling you without pushing me away, refusing to hear that the mistakes you made were mistakes. I made similar ones, violating protocol or regulation, and had to deal with the consequences in several ways. My feelings were the last consideration I had -- the least important. It took a good counselor to teach me that ignoring them would be my Achilles heel -- I would have impaired myself, slowly, insidiously, until a point when my judgment would suffer too much, and my decisions would be too tainted by my own deteriorating mental health, to be good ones. In other words, it takes one to know one. That was the ultimate issue that became your downfall. And completely beyond your ability to address, thanks to the Caretaker and the principles we hold dear that guided that initial decision that kept you in the Delta Quadrant. I would have made the same decision, Kathryn."

Janeway leaned back, hands over her face, and ran her fingers slowly through her hair, dislodging the bun, eyes closed. An expression of such woe on her face that his anxiety spiked -- he knew Deanna was on her way, as she made the decision to come.

"Kathryn," he called softly, trying to bring her back, fearing that he'd misjudged. "Kathryn!"

"My God," she blurted, her tearful tone concerning him. "Oh my God! Oh -- Jean-Luc!"

The door opened, and Deanna came over to drop to one knee and put her hand on Kathryn's knee. It shook her out it, but then Janeway folded forward again, a sob escaping, wrapped her arms across her abdomen.

{The children,} Deanna urged, and Picard put a hand on Janeway's shoulder briefly as he rose to go make sure Naomi and Cordelia were occupied and remained unaware of the anguish of their friend the captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Episode 2, Season 4, The Gift -- my alternate universe does not include the removal of Kes, because her telekinetic powers never advanced to the point of managing atomic manipulation and becoming dangerous. The Doctor merely removed implants until Seven recovered on her own, without the whatever-it-was that nearly killed her that provided the opportunity for Kes to magically remove it. I also chose to ignore Janeway's comment that other people had been un-assimilated -- that makes no sense in the context of the rest of canon before Voyager.
> 
> Chou is French for cabbage, but mon petit chou means my little sweetheart. Picard loves his little girls.


	35. Chapter 35

"It's not going to happen," Deanna said as she leaned, her arm across Janeway's back. "You won't go through it again. Any of it."

Janeway gulped, trying to catch her breath, but another sob broke free.

"Kathryn. Recite the periodic table. Breathe."

She started in her head, whispering by the time she reached molybdenum. By one hundred, fermium, she stopped struggling against sobbing. Another fifty and she could sit up and look at her friend.

Deanna looked up at her with a faint smile, waiting for her to say something. In uniform, with her hair carefully arranged in a tidy coiled braid. Probably with the help of her wonderful husband. 

"Oh, my good friend," she cried, reaching, leaning, hugging Deanna's shoulders. "I was so very blind. It wasn't your fault. I should have -- I should have listened, I should have heard, but I wasn't ready to understand. Jean-Luc told me -- he tried to tell me what my blind spot is from the very start! He asked me if I'd made sacrifices, taken risks for friends, a long time ago."

"Kathryn, that wasn't what he was doing. You're doing it again. Remember? This is not a vast carefully-planned conspiracy to teach you a lesson. Nothing you're going through is unique -- we're just trying to be friends, helping you with things that you've struggled with. We've had difficulties like that, too." 

Janeway let go as Deanna stood up from the floor and settled on the couch, in the spot Picard had vacated. "It's been so much more than that. So much more. Please...."

Deanna's happy smile was reassuring. She waited for her to continue.

"How do you know none of it will happen?"

"You told me there were things you remembered, as we went along -- things that you hadn't recalled before. I have been anticipating a similar effect, because surely if things do change and we alter your future I would remember it. I reached that point just a bit ago. I'm not going to tell you anything that does happen, but I know now that you won't be in an institution on Betazed, and we won't be in such dire straits. I suspect because the ship is still here, in this part of the loop, we won't see the changes in our own situation until we move back to where we belong in the timeline."

"You told me -- us -- what to do when we get back to the Alpha Quadrant. Do those instructions change?"

"Not at all. You're going to make decisions now based on things you already know. Yves will be able to help you, once we move off and he can reveal himself."

"How do you -- " Janeway stared, thinking it through. "You can sense him already. He's already here? Telling you he's here! Your adult son is in contact with you."

Deanna put a finger to her lips and her eyes slid to the right, as Picard's laughter came to them distantly. "It's going to be hard, but one of the things he's said is not to tell anyone but you, until you're ready to go."

"I'm so excited that I get to meet him." Janeway's enthusiasm waned as she thought about the Yves she'd already met. "I hope I get time with the children, before I go. When I get back to the Alpha Quadrant, I can't spend any time with them, can I, not until Yves is eleven."

Deanna sighed, sagging a little, but her smile broadened. "You're forgetting that when the loop resolves, our past changes. We won't have had this experience. I think we won't even remember what's happened between us. If the trajectory of Starfleet changes, from the point you return, the things we've told you about our own future plans will have altered -- we will be different. The kids may be a little different, at the same ages, because their environment will change. The causality loop collapses, stops reiterating itself, we don't have to try again -- none of us will remember, except for you and your crew. Something else for you to prepare them for -- you will be getting to know us for the second time, they will be meeting us for the second time, but we will experience everything without any context at all. Jean-Luc will not have met you on Betazed at all because you won't be there."

"Then I should make the most of the time we have here, because the people you are -- you're like family to me, now, and I don't just mean co-workers and fellow officers. You're like a sister to me, Deanna. I'm so hoping that will be true again, when I get home. I don't want that to change. I don't want to lose you."

Deanna was so radiant, sitting there in her uniform chuckling, blushing a little. "I can't imagine anything else."

"You said you remember -- "

"I can't tell you, Kathryn, please don't ask about the future."

"All right. We'll live in the present. One moment at a time. You'll help me when I get home again, I don't have to ask about that, because if I need help you'll eventually know how to do that for me again, won't you?"

"You can tell me it's possible I suppose. Tell me that I develop that procedure. But only if Captain Janeway sees that it's absolutely necessary, at the time."

Janeway grinned. Deanna was being so ambiguous -- like Picard had been, dodging Deanna's efforts to get the truth out of him, avoiding certainty to avoid giving away compromising information. Not just for sidestepping the ability of empaths -- withholding the truth could be a matter of the Prime Directive. 

"I can do this," Janeway exclaimed. 

"I know you can. Ten impossible things before breakfast, twenty by lunch. And the future is ours to determine. I can't wait -- you'll see, it will be fantastic."

"I thought you weren't supposed to tell me anything."

"I didn't have to tell you that. You're pretty confident that it will be."

Janeway nodded. "Absolutely."

Picard returned, the children trailing along with grins on their faces. "Time for ice cream," he said, stopping in front of the replicator. "Computer, one dish of chocolate ice cream." The bowl coalesced, and he picked it up, bringing it to Deanna. "Now, what does everyone else want?"

Janeway smiled up at him. "I think you know what I want."

He did a slight double-take. Then he strolled over as he asked for a dish of coffee ice cream.

"You see?" she told Deanna.

Deanna's dimples appeared as she scooped up ice cream on her spoon. "His professors all agreed -- he's trainable."


	36. Chapter 36

Picard looked up from the final reports on the repairs when he caught movement out of the tail of his left eye -- he smiled, standing and stepping toward the view port. The planet glowed far below, and just below the lower edge of the port, the light of the star caught the top of _Voyager_ 's saucer section. The work crews had even gone so far as to touch up the serial number before the ship left the planet's surface. There were still battle scars here and there on the hull, but Janeway's vessel was nearly ready. 

"Troi to Picard."

He returned to his chair and turned off the monitor. "Yes, Commander?"

"We've just beamed the last of the _Voyager_ crew, along with the transfers we are providing, over. Our new guests and the two transfers from _Voyager_ are settled into their more permanent quarters."

"Thank you. Are we ready for tonight?"

"We should do a run-through this afternoon. Does three hundred hours work for your schedule?"

"Yes. Holodeck two?"

"The children and I will be there. Troi out."

Picard straightened his jacket and left the ready room. Since all was ship-shape on the bridge, he left Mendez there and headed down to Ten Forward. Janeway was at the bar with Beverly, talking to Guinan.

"All done," he said, taking the seat on Janeway's right. Both women looked at him, smiling.

"It's going to be hard to leave," Janeway said softly. "But I'm glad it's all done -- just the last checks and tests to run. And talent night."

"Did you figure out what you're going to do?" Beverly asked Kathryn.

"It's taken long enough, I suppose I should have found something else over the past two weeks, but I guess I'll have to default to my ballet routine. I spent most of my time with the kids, when I wasn't on _Voyager_. I hope I didn't take them out of school too much -- I tried to get them to do homework, but I'm afraid I did spoil them badly."

Picard smiled, knowing how much the children had loved all the attention. "I expected them to request transfers as well. Especially Yves." His son had gone to _Voyager_ several times with Janeway, after she'd given all four a tour of her ship, after they'd brought it back into orbit. 

Janeway chuckled. "I can't wait to see what you're doing tonight -- Yves and Amy were giggling about it nonstop, yesterday. They kept whispering about it and grinning quite deviously at me when I asked."

Talent night had been postponed twice more, as _Voyager_ crew had returned to duty and threw themselves into repair work, speeding up the process of getting the ship back into space. The second postponement had been Dalby's fault -- he'd tried to take the Delta Flyer. Fortunately, Chakotay had suggested and enacted new security protocols similar to those aboard the _Enterprise_ , having Tuvok create a subroutine to secure transporters and shuttles against unauthorized use.

"Did she talk you into dancing?" Beverly asked, her expression indicating she knew full well how unlikely that was.

"Deanna has created an act that specifically features me not dancing."

Janeway laughed at him, shaking her head. "What will you do? Give orders? Read a book? Surely not yoga."

"Maybe it's a scene from a play," Beverly suggested, again with the smirk. 

"You horrible people. I don't deserve this mockery."

"That could be true. But I suspect you know better." Beverly picked up her glass and drained it. "I'm going back over to have one last rehearsal, and we'll be over after dinner, to get good seats. It'll be packed, I think."

"See you later." Picard watched her go, and turned to Janeway. "Remember what I told you, in the cell? Did I live up to expectations?"

She had to think for a bit. "That you would do better than get my crew home," she said at last. A smile blossomed. "There might have been more coffee -- but I'd say you did pretty damn well."

"It's been good for us, as well. This was actually quite restful, compared to what's been the norm for the past few years."

Janeway leaned back, raising an eyebrow, incredulous. "You've been stabbed, Deanna was knocked into a coma, Glendenning almost died -- I'm really looking forward to life after we get back to the Alpha Quadrant, now that you've showed me what relaxing looks like."

They laughed together for a moment, but as Annika came over and wordlessly began to make his tea, the mirth subsided. Picard waited until the lid went on the teapot and steeping began. "How are you today, Annika?"

"I am feeling well, today. Better than yesterday. Thank you for asking," she said quietly, meeting his gaze with a slight smile. The panic attacks were irregular, having tapered off to every few days. Mengis had found a medication to help her brain re-establish normal serotonin levels without hampering the functionality of the remaining implant. She had taken his warning seriously, and once Deanna had enough time to fully explain to her in terms she understood what needed to happen for her to feel normal, Annika got the reassurance she needed that she truly could expect to recover. 

"Are you coming tonight?" Janeway asked.

"I spoke with Deanna and we agreed that it would not be prudent at this time. She will record the show for me, and I will come for a brief period prior to the start of the show to greet friends, then return to my quarters." Annika suppressed a smile, glancing at Picard. "Will you be participating in the talent contest?"

"My family will. And no, I'm not dancing," he added, smiling. With Deanna's influence the young woman had started to make attempts to tease him; the aversion to public performances he felt was an easy target, and he had allowed it despite a few remarks that had gone too far. She had to start somewhere, he supposed. Deanna's plan for her included slow introduction to normal activities such as eating in the officer's mess. Probably best if he had some level of comfort with having her around -- and if he could help train her not to treat him with disrespect, so much the better.

He sipped tea, listened to Janeway list her first few planned destinations -- if they were going to backtrack, she had decided, they would do it by avoiding completely some of the less pleasant species along the way -- and glanced occasionally out the viewports as both of the other vessels were in view now, hovering a good distance apart over the planet below. At length Janeway followed his gaze and fell silent, staring.

"I'll repay you, someday," she said softly.

"I doubt it. You'll help when it's needed. Do your duty. It's what we do. We don't do this because we expect payment."

Janeway pushed her chair around to face him, leaning forward, hands on her knees. "Jean-Luc, you know what will happen when you return, don't you?"

"If the causality loop collapses, it's likely I won't remember anything. The past will be what it will be, different for us."

"I so want to remember it all. I've been making logs. I intend to share them with you."

He sighed, placing the cup on its saucer on the bar. "Kathryn -- "

"I know. But I'm going to. What will it hurt, really? To know that something never happened?"

He laughed at it, and she joined him. Shaking his head, he glanced around the room. Jacoby strolled in, saw them, and went to a table near a viewport. When Annika strolled over to take his order, he smiled at her -- a friendly smile, not angry. One of the first things Deanna had done, after gaining that minute toehold of respect from the cadet, was to begin a campaign of getting the damned boy to be honest in counseling with Davidson. It had not been made clear to Picard what the problem had really been, but it was progress, and more than he'd expected after all that had happened.

"I suppose it will not hurt," he said, looking back at Kathryn. "I suppose you're justified in wanting to continue to associate with the illustrious Picard family. I suspect Yves will be the youngest fleet admiral in Starfleet history."

She gave him a look of complete, amused disbelief. Her chin dropped briefly and then she grinned, such a devious, evil expression that he almost flinched pre-emptively. "That would be after you become the oldest fleet admiral in Starfleet history?"

Heads turned all over Ten Forward at the burst of uncharacteristically-loud laughter from their captain -- then smiles, as he continued to laugh with Janeway. 

"Just for that, you can expect to be the oldest captain," he shot back, still chuckling.

"If you're in charge, that would be a rewarding experience," she said, losing most of her grin. "And that's not a joke."

He held out a hand, but she snorted. She slid off the chair and took a step -- when he followed, she pivoted on a heel and threw her arms around him. After a moment of stiff shock, he returned the embrace, briefly, and stepped back. Fortunately she let him.

"I'm going to practice a little, before tonight," she said. "See you later."

Guinan came up behind him as he watched Janeway leave. He sat again, watched her refill his cup, and they exchanged a smile.

"You did good," she said simply, turning to head down the bar, picking up the coffee pot on her way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALMOST DONE. 
> 
> Sigh.
> 
> Three more chapters. 
> 
> Then, more WIPs....


	37. Chapter 37

Janeway fell into her chair, laughing, trying to catch her breath. She shouted at Chakotay over the applause, "No more talent nights!"

The clapping died down slowly. He was grinning, looking her up and down. "I guess we're not changing out uniforms for green leotards, either?"

"This dying swan is finally dead. I'm too old for this," she exclaimed, getting over-the-shoulder grins from Paris and Torres, sitting in the row in front of them. 

"This is the better of the two talent nights, so far," Chakotay said. 

He was right -- with the blend of participants from all three crews, the quality of the acts had risen substantially. Harry's clarinet solo had morphed into an ensemble with the help of Data and Phoebe adding an oboe and flute, and Malia stepping up with her bassoon. Paris had jumped up on stage and started an old song called The Twist by the ridiculously-named Chubby Checker, and then recruited from the audience until he had a stage covered with hip-swinging, laughing officers. Tuvok had re-strung his lyre for the occasion, and gave his rendition of a Mozart piece he'd transposed in a key conducive to Vulcan instrumentation. Kes had sung a lovely aria, accompanied by Lieutenant Wildman's piano playing. Neelix had recited a Talaxian tale, with a little musical accompaniment that he'd found in the computer somewhere and some acting by Naomi, Cordelia and Amy. Beverly and Tom had spun onto the stage in a tuxedo and ball gown, and showed off their dancing acumen -- clearly there had been many a night in the holodeck practicing, over the years, for the captain and the doctor. Several others had participated, playing out skits and making music, with one tap-dancing ensign clacking around for a while. But more had attended than stepped up to perform -- the main gym had been repurposed due to the level of interest, and the transporters on all three ships had been busy for the hour prior to the show.

"Who's next?"

Chakotay held up his program. "Just one."

Janeway grinned, rubbing her hands together. "I can't wait!"

The murmur of conversation around them died down as the lights dimmed, slowly, until it was completely dark. Then the stage spots slowly illuminated the bare floor, and out walked Picard, pushing an easy chair ahead of him. He placed it dead center and walked around it, seated himself, and opened a book. He wore his uniform.

"Oh, _come on_ ," Janeway called, and her jibe was joined by a few similar comments -- Natalia laughed loudly from somewhere to the right. 

Then the music began -- a fast-paced guitar riff, and then lyrics. Deanna spun into view, wearing a white dress, her skirt whirling beautifully as she pirouetted across to the chair, stepped off into a jaunty stride as she crossed in front of him, grabbing the book and flinging it to the back of the stage. He scowled but she grabbed his hand and yanked -- he came to his feet and stumbled along after her, letting himself be half-dragged, then she let go and danced off stage into darkness. 

The lyrics were perfect -- a male voice singing about how the woman of his dreams repeatedly told him to shut up and dance. The music set a frenetic pace, setting a swift tempo for the actors to follow. Picard waved a hand, scoffing in the direction she'd vanished, and went after his book, but seconds after she left Deanna danced back out, grabbed his collar, pulled him to the front of the stage, forced him to face forward, and whirled around him, shimmying up and down at him, bumping his hip with hers, while he continued to look furious and follow her with his eyes. 

She stopped trying after a bit, put her hands on her hips, stomped a foot, tossed her head, and kicked him lightly on the ass. He crossed his arms and stood stiffly. When she strode the other direction off the stage he sidled a few steps, looking after her as if not believing his good fortune, and turned to escape in the opposite direction. The singer went on about the woman being his destiny, telling him not to look back. Picard almost made it offstage, but here she came out of the darkness in front of him, skipping along, forcing him to backpedal, holding out a baby -- she shoved it into his arms and danced off again into the darkness. 

Picard held the blond child at arm's length, staring at it as if he'd just been handed antimatter. The singer was singing on about how they were bound to be together. The kid giggled, adding to the comedy. People were laughing, and Janeway was no exception -- she roared with laughter as he carefully put the boy on his feet on the stage, and backed away slowly. And here came Deanna, dancing along, bringing the baby a brightly-colored pinwheel, while Picard tried again to escape -- and just as he disappeared into the darkness he reeled back out on the stage with one of the twins seated on each foot, high-stepping as if trying to shake them off. 

Deanna left the baby blowing the pinwheel around and around, flourishing her skirt around a few times as she pirouetted offstage, and as Picard peeled off the twins she returned and handed him a baseball glove. While the twins started dancing together to the music behind him, Picard put on the glove and picked a baseball out of it, frowned, and seemed to throw the ball after Deanna as she danced off into the darkness again -- a second glove came out into the light, at the end of an arm, to catch the ball, and then Yves leaped out and pitched it back, hard. 

Picard ducked, letting the ball fly off the other side into the darkness, and threw down the glove, storming angrily toward the back of the stage. And then he was reversing course, backing toward the audience, angling left, and almost bumped into the chair -- Deanna had cut him off and brought him back. She grabbed his wrists, and she spun him around and around, twice to the right and then back, with him putting up a token effort to get away, until she backed him over to the chair again and pushed him into it. The twins and the toddler raced over and clambered up in his lap. Amy arrived from stage left with a meerschaum pipe and his book, placing one of them in each of his hands, then pirouetting and plopping her little tutu on the arm of the chair to pose fetchingly. Yves wearing his baseball glove took up a position on the left side of the chair. Fidele ran out from the right, where the ball had gone, and flopped at Picard's feet, wagging his tail, a baseball in his mouth. Deanna came to a stop on the right, a hand on the back of the chair and the other on her hip as she gave a jaunty nod and the music ended abruptly. 

The stage went dark as the crowd got to their feet and clapped and howled, and then a spotlight came up. Deanna and the children appeared, bowing low, and bowing again. Then Deanna glanced around frowning and vanished from the spotlight, to reappear pushing Picard into view. He shrugged and stood there, looking vaguely disgruntled.

Janeway kept laughing, clapping with Chakotay, as the family waved and walked off into the darkness -- except for Picard, who glanced over his shoulder suspiciously and started to slink the other way. Deanna darted into the light, grabbed his hand, and unceremoniously dragged him away with her. 

When everyone had settled down, when the audience began to mill and talk, Malia came out to center stage. She attempted to get a vote, but Glendenning stood up in the front row and shouted, "Give it to Picard! For bravery!" and triggered an enthusiastic round of applause. And so she stood holding the gleaming silver trophy, looking around, calling for him. Yves finally jogged out on stage, gave her a sheepish grin, and accepted it on his father's behalf. The lights came up, and everyone stood and turned to talking and laughing as the crowd started to disperse.

It was only at the end of endless farewells and compliments -- really, she hadn't thought she'd done so well as that, but maybe her audience appreciated how difficult ballet was for someone who had no time to practice -- that Janeway realized how tired she was. Not the exhausted kind of tired she'd felt for so many months recovering, but just tired, like she'd had a busy day. Which she had. So many checklists and procedures and inspections. 

The auditorium was emptying quickly, and some crew were starting to fold up chairs at the back. Echoing concussions signaled the beginnings of dismantling the stage, from somewhere behind the curtains. Janeway leaned on Chakotay as they came down the aisle to the edge of the stage, where Picard and Troi stood watching their children moving off with Natalia, who'd taken charge to get them off to bed, evidently. Yves threw Janeway a tired smile; she waved and headed for his parents. 

"How creative -- I loved it," Janeway exclaimed, grinning at her friends. "That was the best not-dancing I've ever seen."

"He just did what he always does," Deanna said. "That move with the twins doesn't happen as much any more, but that was a morning routine for a while. Playing 'alien leg grabbers', letting Amy bring him a book, tolerating my nonsense, and not playing ball with Yves are all quite natural."

"Baseball is Tom's bailiwick," Picard replied defensively. "Yves and I have other things to do."

"Jean-Luc has always had a strong aversion to public performances," Beverly said. She and Tom had come from the other direction, still wearing their finery. 

"We'll have to do this again some time," Chakotay said, sounding sincere. 

Picard grimaced. It won him a sharp look from Deanna. Then she took his hand, leaning against his arm. "You tolerate my teasing as if it's no big deal, but you can't tolerate your crew laughing with you, when you're being deliberately comic?"

"It's not -- "

" -- appropriate, to be seen as a buffoon by your subordinates. I didn't hear mockery. I heard appreciation, and encouragement, and there weren't any negative reactions to be sensed. They enjoyed the joke, all the more because you surprised them with it. They were happy to be included in a little glimpse of how you are with your family. Your crew are also your family."

Janeway watched the expression on Picard's face shift, to a wary kind of realization, as he sidestepped a little and eyed her skeptically. Then he exhaled slowly, visibly deflating a bit. "Stupid fish?"

"It took you a long time to get to a place where you were willing to hear that you're able to be yourself, that's all. Silly fish." She grinned and reached over to give him a gentle slap on the back of the head. "Maybe some day you'll actually dance with me in public."

Janeway opened her mouth, but Picard interrupted what she was about to say by throwing out an arm and sweeping Deanna away into a long waltz down the aisle, showing off that he could indeed dance quite passably. Deanna laughed as they went.

After the impromptu show the three couples went, at Picard's invitation, to the observation lounge. Janeway felt a little awkward, but no one seemed to care that she still wore what amounted to a skirt over a leotard. Deanna handed out glasses of wine, and they stood watching the view forward, of the glorious canopy of stars.

"So we're almost done," Tom said redundantly. "Going to be a long trip home, still. And I guess we've been making logs that we won't have when we get back?"

Beverly made a disgusted noise. "I hate time travel," she murmured, raising her glass to sip cabernet.

"Why are we here?" Picard said, sounding as tired as Janeway felt.

"Didn't you invite us?"

To answer Janeway's question, he waved a hand at Deanna. But she pursed her lips, shook her head. "What?"

"It was me, but it wasn't me, Jean." Deanna pointed out the viewport. "Watch."

"What -- " He turned, and Janeway saw, and felt her own, entire body react with a flinch -- but Deanna grabbed his arm.

"No red alert necessary," she said. The biggest Borg cube Janeway had ever seen just appeared in front of them, as if a cloaking device had turned off. 

Then Picard had to comm the bridge, to cancel the red alert that Mendez initiated, and instruct him to inform the other ships to stand down -- he didn't ask for an explanation, Janeway noticed. Deanna's reassurance had been enough to keep Jean-Luc Picard from firing at a Borg cube -- she never would have believed it, before he'd rescued her.

"It's not what it appears," a new voice announced.

The six officers spun, almost spilling wine on themselves, to see that a man in a black and green uniform had arrived, silently, and stood against the wall on the other side of the long table. Deanna put her glass on the table and raced around it to throw her arms around him.

"Hello, Maman," he said softly, hugging her close.

"You," Picard exclaimed, smiling broadly.

Yves let go his Maman and guided her back around the table and chairs, and without hesitation went to his father to repeat the warm embrace, kissing him on each cheek, grinning with the same mischief the younger version they knew frequently showed.

"Inside, it's just as regulation as this ship," he said, and then glanced at the rest of them. "Hi, Aunt Kath."

"Oh, no you don't, come here," she exclaimed, holding out her arms.

He laughed as he obeyed, and moved on to greet Chakotay, Aunt Bee and Uncle Tom in similar fashion. Then, just like his father, he turned to the business at hand. "I told you it would be a ship that made sense in this time and place. We've been hanging out beyond your sensor net, keeping the locals away to give you time to get it all done. Maman and I have been chatting for the past week or so, about nothing sensitive mind you."

"So we aren't going to remember," Picard said sadly.

"Nope. One of the things about causality loops. Resolve them and they're gone. So while I'm not going to tell you anything that will cause problems with how the loop resolves, I can tell you other things, and be a little selfish spending a little time with you as you are today. Unless it's something Kathryn shouldn't remember -- the Temporal Prime Directive will still apply."

"So you're saying that right now, there are two of your mother," Picard said, a sly note to his half-question.

"He never quits, does he?" Yves said, chuckling. "No, you can't get the two of them together in a holodeck. I can shield just fine now and you're still giving me headaches!"

Tom laughed at it first. Beverly flushed and put a hand on her cheek.

"Is he also there?" Deanna asked quietly.

Yves shook his head. "It's not what you think, though. He's home, with Cordelia and Jean-Pierre. A little too far to come for someone his age." He reached in the front of the jacket he wore and produced a print picture. "Your grandchildren. Not mine -- Amy has five, and Cordie's just married. Pierre's chasing some girl he met on leave. He's nearly as stupid as you were, apparently."

"I've just realized," Janeway exclaimed. "Stupid is a Picard-ism -- shorthand for young and reckless. You're not impugning your intelligence at all."

"Well, aren't you the slow witted one, in your old age," Tom said, grinning at her. "Hey!" Beverly jabbed an elbow into his ribs in retaliation.

"We grew up speaking Picard," Yves said. "Also Betazoid, French, and Klingon. And L'norim, thanks to deLio and his kids. Also Glendenning."

"He's home," Deanna murmured, her eyes coming up from the picture. "But I'm here?"

Yves looked at his parents, and Picard turned away, crossing his arms, staring at the cube outside. Janeway knew what she meant, and waited for Yves to respond.

"It's okay. More bearable, if Cordelia's there to help him with it. Not ideal, but easier than it used to be for you to be apart this way. Things keep changing, in that respect."

"So how do we get home, from here?" Janeway asked, smiling.

"I should have placed a bet," Chakotay said. "I knew she'd say that."

Yves pointed at the cube. "We put _Voyager_ in the cube, cruise on over for a week until we reach Hirogen space, open a temporal rift, and drop out a year from now. In transit, Maman and I teach Kes how to use her method of healing trauma, and sharpen her telepathic ability to the point that she can communicate with the Xens'mik and prevent the conflict with them. We go on our way back to our time and place, and you go on your way, to return via the wormhole along with about a dozen vessels full of refugees, some of them of the same species you'll be confronted with when you get there. It'll help you convince them to stop shooting and talk."

"Think we'll have time for a cup of coffee, here and there?" Janeway said fondly.

Yves gave her a grin and a wink. "Looking forward to it. I'll bring Lieutenant-Commander Hansen with me. She gets through it and successfully does as Papa suggested -- graduates from the Academy, eventually gets posted on the _Enterprise_ , does a great job of shepherding cadets like Maman did."

"Now that is good news," Janeway exclaimed. "I can't wait to see her."

"D'you mind if I have some time with my parents?" Yves asked, glancing from Janeway and Chakotay to Tom and Beverly.

"Sure. We need to push off anyway -- guess we can go now that you're here, eh? Jean-Luc, I'll go have Data start the computations and get your helm on the same coordinates. Warp nine to the wormhole, a time shift, and off we go for home?" Tom took Beverly's elbow and they started for the door.

"Yes, thank you, Tom," Jean-Luc said, glancing over at his friends. 

"We'll see you soon, Yves," Janeway said. "Chakotay?"

They left the observation lounge, crossed the bridge, entered a lift, and asked for the transporter room.

"What a wild ride it's been," she intoned, shaking her head, sighing heavily.

"You love wild rides. Wouldn't be in Starfleet if you didn't."

She exchanged a smirk with her first officer. He had that smug look he usually got, when they reached the end of a successful mission, or were victorious in battle, or just gotten out of a dire situation. 

"Warp nine, Kathryn?"

"Signing on for the next madcap scheme?"

"Absolutely. Wouldn't want it any other way."

"Make it so."

"Picard?" he guessed.

Janeway grinned. "Also Troi. She does it too. Guess he rubbed off on her."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are curious about the song Deanna chose, it might have been Shut Up and Dance With Me, sung by Walk the Moon, on the album Talking is Hard. The music is catchy and the lyrics were what inspired the solution to Picard's aversion to public dancing, especially for a performance.
> 
> The lyrics: 
> 
>  
> 
> Oh don't you dare look back  
> Just keep your eyes on me  
> I said you're holding back  
> She said shut up and dance with me  
> This woman is my destiny  
> She said oh oh oh  
> Shut up and dance with me
> 
> We were victims of the night  
> The chemical, physical, kryptonite  
> Helpless to the bass and the fading light  
> Oh we were bound to get together  
> Bound to get together
> 
> She took my arm  
> I don't know how it happened  
> We took the floor and she said
> 
> Oh don't you dare look back  
> Just keep your eyes on me  
> I said you're holding back  
> She said shut up and dance with me  
> This woman is my destiny  
> She said oh oh oh  
> Shut up and dance with me
> 
> A backless dress and some beat up sneaks  
> My disco tec Juliet teenage dream  
> I felt it in my chest as she looked at me  
> I knew we were bound to be together  
> Bound to be together
> 
> She took my arm  
> I don't know how it happened  
> We took the floor and she said
> 
> Oh don't you dare look back  
> Just keep your eyes on me  
> I said you're holding back  
> She said shut up and dance with me  
> This woman is my destiny  
> She said oh oh oh  
> Shut up and dance with me
> 
> Deep in her eyes  
> I think I see the future  
> I realize this is my last chance
> 
> She took my arm  
> I don't know how it happened  
> We took the floor and she said
> 
> Oh don't you dare look back  
> Just keep your eyes on me  
> I said you're holding back  
> She said shut up and dance with me  
> This woman is my destiny  
> She said oh oh oh  
> Shut up and dance
> 
> Oh don't you dare look back  
> Just keep your eyes on me  
> I said you're holding back  
> She said shut up and dance with me  
> This woman is my destiny  
> She said oh oh oh  
> Shut up and dance with me
> 
> Oh oh oh shut up dance with me  
> Oh oh oh shut up dance with me


	38. Chapter 38

Picard turned to his wife once the others had gone. "I think we might have done all right, really," he said, inclining his head in Yves' direction.

"I love you, too," Yves said, in nearly the same slightly-sarcastic tone.

Deanna burst out laughing, fumbling for the nearest chair and falling into it, holding her face in her hands.

Yves dragged one of the chairs over, and sat down facing her. He glanced up at his father, held out his hand, and as she recovered she took it without hesitation.

"I lied," Yves confessed softly. "As with all things this isn't so straightforward. This ship, the changes made on it, will be as it is -- you remember, don't you? Now?"

Deanna nodded and looked up at Picard. As he thought about it, as he tried to remember finding Janeway in the cell, he did -- but also he remembered meeting her, six years ago. When Yves was five, and Amy a toddler, and the twins hadn't been born yet. He remembered feeling so confused that Janeway had been so familiar and comfortable with him -- she'd greeted Yves with sadness and joy, talked to Fidele with obvious knowledge of his non-dog status. 

"Such a paradox. I hate -- "

" -- time travel, yes," he finished for her, reaching, and her hand came up to join his immediately. 

The look on Yves' face came to Picard's attention -- their son stared at them, as if in awe. His eyes flicked to Picard's face, and a slow smile started. "This is what made it possible to start the process of better understanding time travel," he said, nodding. "This will be something Data wants to discuss with you, at some point. It makes it possible for me to be here."

"You're so happy," Deanna whispered. "It makes me feel such -- "

Yves glowed, much like his mother always had, and it gave Picard a start -- the mild discomfort at seeing it on a face so like his own rose in him, and Yves laughed, then Deanna was laughing with him, and it didn't matter a bit -- this was what he hadn't known he'd always wanted, the swirling, overwhelming joy, standing with two telepaths who shared it all with him, and feeling such a sense of belonging and intimacy that he thought he would surely never forget and always want to find again.

And they agreed with him, and they stayed that way for a while, until the tone of an incoming transmission interrupted. "Glendenning to Picard. We're ready."

"Acknowledged. Departure in fifteen minutes. Picard out."

Picard stared at his son, smiling, not caring that his face was wet with tears -- all of them were crying with joy. As one they moved in and arms went round shoulders, and foreheads came together, and he pressed his face into his son's hair, short and wiry as his mother's. 

"It will all be well," Yves whispered. "It will be wonderful. Thank you, for my life. Thank you for being what you are. Thank you for my future. Thank you for your suffering -- you will never know all that you have set in motion, and I know that it's been so difficult, working so hard for so long to ends that you couldn't know anything about -- but it's been more than worth the pain. So much more. It's been glorious."

He backed away, leaving them clinging to each other, and smiled again, a familiar dimple appearing. "Thanks for turning up the generator." And, as Deanna beamed radiantly, holding back the laughter, he added, "Don't ever give up that part of your life, for anything. You deserve every second of happiness."

Yves vanished in a swirl of white particles that started at his feet and spiraled silently up his body, taking him away from them. 

Picard took a deep breath and composed himself, sighing. "I'm glad we can remember it all."

"It will complicate things less than we imagine," she said, wrapping her arms around him and putting her chin on his shoulder. "For once."

He contacted the bridge, gave the order to coordinate with _Venture_ \-- full impulse along the course Glendenning set, toward the wormhole. Warp eight as they passed the outermost planet of the star system they were in. 

But for the first time in his memory, he put his arms around his first officer and watched through the viewports instead of taking his place on the bridge -- and Deanna, for the first time in memory, didn't protest the intimacy in their place of business, didn't complain at the captain, simply watched the Borg cube slide out of sight as the _Enterprise_ left orbit. Then their sister ship came up alongside them, the saucer section creeping just into view on the far left port as Tom paralleled them and matched speed. 

They watched a planet slide past, a bunch of asteroids slipping by with some obvious movement caused by shields pushing rocks out of their way as they passed through -- the light of the star continued to provide illumination of the _Venture_ 's nose and gradually dimmed. The shift finally happened -- warp speed. 

Pulling away, Picard leaned to drop a kiss on her lips, and preceded her out the door. Their officers glanced up at the sound of the door, smiled -- the smiles grew a little, as they no doubt saw residual glow on both their faces, but their expressions were one and all affectionate, proud, and very faintly amused. And brief. Nothing new here, after all.

Picard settled in his chair with a tug of his jacket, glanced at Davidson, who nodded a casual welcome, and then at Troi -- she sat tall, her hands resting in her lap, and serenely regarded the viewscreen with the detached composure typical of his first officer.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, Commander?"

Her eyes shifted, a slight frown appeared, and then she thought about it. "I thought I would spend a little time here, since my husband isn't home yet. If you don't mind."

"He must be a very tolerant man," Picard said, sounding quite detached and ever-so-mildly interested. "I'm not sure I would want my wife to work so late into the next shift."

A quickly-stifled groan turned both their heads, to look at Davidson. The counselor had his head in his hand, leaning against the arm of his chair. 

"Is something the matter?" Picard asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ben sat up and shook his head slowly. "Not a damned thing, sir. Everything's exactly the way it should be. I just have a bit of a headache."

Deanna's knowing, amused look didn't match her calm response. "I can page Dr. Mengis, if you -- "

"No, Commander, thanks -- I'll just go down to sickbay for an analgesic. Thanks, though." He sat forward, rose from his seat, and headed for the aft turbolift.

"Status, helm?"

"Sir. On course for the wormhole, warp eight. Second star to the right, straight on til morning," Greenman added.

"Someone's been reading old Earth literature to the younger personnel," Troi commented. 

"And all's right with the world," Picard muttered, smiling, quoting another recent bedtime story.

Deanna sighed heavily, and he knew his wife disapproved of his habit of reading Victorian literature to the children -- but they wouldn't understand the context until they were much older, and she knew the importance he placed on understanding history. He thought about the time of Browning, and the poem itself -- the story of an orphan working in slavery, on the single day off she was given in the whole year, passing through the town seeing only the good in people who are scheming deviously in various ways -- Pippa Passes was arguably Browning's best work, nuanced and rich with meaning for those who took the time to understand the archaic language and the context of it.

"We are not now that strength which in the old days, Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are; One equal temper of heroic hearts, Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." 

He stared at the commander, and now Greenman glanced over her shoulder at them, staring instead of quickly turning back to her panel as Edison, sitting at ops, did. 

"Tennyson? Honestly?" he said, raising both eyebrows.

"It seemed appropriate." 

"You appear to be drawing a comparison, or attempting to," he said.

"Not at all. I would never dare to compare you in any way to an idle king, Captain."

A muffled chuckle, from somewhere on the bridge. Likely Natalia. 

"Steady as she goes," he announced, putting a ring of authority into it, leaning back and letting the bridge fall silent now that he'd put an end to the veiled battle of wills with his wife.

\-------------------------------

Janeway stood as _Voyager_ came to a stop inside the massive cube, and Harry informed them that tractor beams were engaging to stabilize them and hold them in place, preparing for the next phase of their journey. "I'd like a level one diagnostic on all systems."

"Aye, Captain," Chakotay responded crisply. He suppressed the affectionate smile, but it wasn't so subdued as to be unnoticeable. 

"I'll be in my ready room, Commander."

She went about getting a cup of coffee without thinking about it, then smiled, looking at it, looking around -- everything was where she'd originally put it, except for one of her models. She went to put it back, then started to rearrange things a little. New chapter, new look -- she was replicating a vase of flowers when he spoke.

"Hi, Aunt Kath."

Putting down the vase, she beamed, rushing to hug him. When they were seated together on her sofa, a cup of her special coffee in his hand, she knitted her fingers and rested them on her knee, legs crossed.

"We need to talk," he said softly. 

It sobered her quickly. "Okay," she replied, just as softly.

"You're going to do fine when you get back. Interrupting the battle will be a piece of cake, for you. The hard part will be talking to my parents." He sipped. "Well, now I see why you liked Janeway One so much -- you have good taste in coffee."

She grinned, but waited for him to continue.

"You'll be dropping into the middle of some of the more trying years of their life. The twins had to be removed and placed in an artificial womb, at thirteen weeks. Maman overextended herself often, because if she hadn't things would have been bad, and her health was not good. Papa let her do what she decided to do -- he's never been anything but the captain, really, and history doesn't reflect how essential her behavior was to his continued success. But I was there, and like Betazoids do, I remember a lot more than humans -- Papa was probably told that before, a number of times, but his focus is usually her, or work, and sometimes pursuit of things he enjoys. He doesn't recall as much as I do, or as Maman does."

"I understand."

"I know your natural inclination is to be warm and comforting, and to want to help, especially people you love," Yves said. He paused, looking her in the eye earnestly. "But when you meet them for the first time, you need to simply accept what's in front of you for what it is, and not become over-involved to the point that you are enmeshed in their lives at that time."

Janeway struggled for a few minutes with the assertion. 

"You're thinking too hard. That's another problem. Thinking to the point of over-analyzing what you're doing. The biggest lesson my parents taught me was to think, but more than that, to just live -- figure out who you are and what you stand for, and be that person, no matter what. Love the people you have, and be the person you are. Everything else is just window dressing. Sometimes it's important to focus on the different parts of things, the future, the past, the duty, the hard tasks at work, but in the end, what happens in the hours between the big things that the rest of the galaxy sees is more important -- it's what history is built upon. It's more important than anything, those moments in between, when you tune in and get what you need, while you're giving those people what they need."

Janeway grinned again, and started to chuckle, shaking her head. "I knew befriending you would be important," she said, thinking about him, at eleven, lecturing her about dogs in space.

"The most important moment of your life, right?" Yves gave her his father's grin. "It's never so simple as that. But you're right. It's the most important moment, until the next most important moment comes along. And it's all absolutely wonderful -- this life, now, is the best it will ever be, until it gets better."

"Carpe diem," she exclaimed.

"Sir," came a new voice -- familiar, but so different, warm, full of joy. In the foreground, Yves grinned again, and Janeway raised her eyes from his face to catch the dissipating sparkle of a fading transporter effect, leaving a woman standing in the middle of the ready room, wearing a uniform similar to Yves' with fewer pips at the neck. 

"If it isn't Lieutenant-Commander Hansen," she exclaimed, rising, holding out her arms.

Annika came without hesitation -- her embrace was so new a thing, so natural and warm, so different from the stiff ex-Borg she'd known, who'd never willingly touched her once. And the residual hardware was gone from her face. Completely human, and happy, relaxed, all that Janeway had imagined she could be.

"As you were," Yves said, rising and standing with arms crossed. 

Janeway responded automatically, going stiff and pulling away from Annika -- and laughed, putting her hands on her hips. "Aren't you the consummate officer? I'd swear it had to be genetic, if I didn't know better."

"I rather think it is," came Deanna's response -- damn that silent transporter process! Now Janeway whirled and hugged without really looking, then stood back and stared.

Deanna had aged so gracefully, her hair neatly gathered at the crown of her head and cascading down her shoulders, her uniform that of an admiral -- the green was hard to get used to, but she wore it well. The insignia appeared to indicate that the lovely commander she'd known was on her way to being a vice admiral. 

"Yes, I agree," Janeway said fondly.

"Would you be averse to my using your ready room, Captain?" Deanna said smoothly, tucking her hands behind her back.

"Of course not -- anything you need. I can -- " The annunciator went off. Janeway sighed. "Excuse me, Admiral. Come in."

Kes arrived, followed by Chakotay. The latter stared in surprise at the collection of officers, the former went to Deanna with arms wide and received a hug, and the two settled together on the couch.

"The admiral will need some privacy," Yves said. "And later, dinner. Ms. Hansen will look at the engines, with Ms. Torres, as there are a few adjustments to be made."

"The commander can show you to the engine room," Janeway said officiously, falling in with the official manner of their guests from the future. 

Annika actually laughed a little, meeting Chakotay's started eyes. "I remember the way, but it would be nice... It would be acceptable to renew our acquaintance," she said, suddenly sounding like Seven of Nine. Then she laughed again. "It's good to see you, Chakotay."

"All right, then," he said, glancing at Janeway, then at Deanna. "It's an honor, Admiral."

A little of the warmth Janeway remembered so well lit up Deanna's dark eyes. "And just what are your intentions toward Kathryn, young man?"

It turned both of them to stone. Yves sighed, the exhalation loud in the silence. "Maman, you said -- "

"I did indeed, and I intend to follow through. I'll be good -- good and ready to make sure my good friend gets what she needs."

Yves and Annika exchanged a look. "It looks like he won, again," Annika said.

"Better get to engineering. I'm going back to the bridge," Yves said. He turned to his mother. "I know better, but I keep letting Papa sucker me into wagering."

Deanna flicked her fingernails in dismissal, and he straightened his shoulders, gave Janeway a restrained smile, and beamed out without so much as opening a comm channel. Annika brushed past Chakotay, who turned and followed her out of the ready room. Janeway heard a startled "Seven?" from Harry before the doors closed.

"Does your computer know how to give me a decent glass of ebi'lan tea?" Deanna said, with a hint of imperious dignity.

"If it doesn't, I am reasonably confident we can manage hot chocolate." Janeway turned with a smile, feeling quite at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter! and then an afterword. 
> 
> If you are one of those who likes to download and keep completed works, wait a month. The last half is a lot of first draft that I confess to posting before it was edited well. I tend to write quickly and go back to clarify or reword, and catch stray typos as I go. I intend to let it sit a couple of weeks, then go through tidying and adding to, before downloading my own complete copy to store.
> 
> Tennyson's Ulysses is quoted above, and Pippa Passes is oft misquoted and rarely understood, but worth a read if you have the time and access to Browning's work.


	39. Chapter 39

Picard stared in dismay at the viewscreen. He glanced down at Lieutenant Greenman, who looked just as serious. The fleet of ships, tiny against a backdrop of space but each one glowing like a neon blue chevron, looked like a flock of birds.

"deLio?"

"No response. They are holding position, no change."

Scowling, chewing his lip briefly, Picard spun and stalked back to his chair. "Open a channel to the fleet."

"Channel open, sir."

"This is Captain Picard. Shields up. Attack pattern delta one, on my mark."

On his own monitor, he brought up the display showing the movements of the vessels that had been deployed to support him in the defense of the border -- ten Romulan warbirds had been sent by the Romulan High Command, a demonstration of how seriously this threat had been taken by the Empire. The twenty Federation vessels included two of the other Sovereign-class vessels, the _Venture_ and the _Dauntless_. Starfleet had taken this just as seriously.

"Sir," deLio exclaimed as an alarm went off. "There is another fleet of vessels -- it's -- "

Picard rose and turned to look at his security chief, who had never been rendered speechless in all the time he'd been at tactical.

"It's led by _Voyager_ , sir," he announced.

"What the hell is this?" came a voice over the open channel -- Captain Brannagh, Picard recognized belatedly.

Picard flicked a finger toward the viewscreen, and deLio obeyed, giving the view aft, and there it was, the little Intrepid starship surrounded by a variety of alien vessels. Including, he saw, a number of the little blue chevrons they were about to attack.

"Picard to the fleet -- stand down! Hold for further instructions!" He signaled, and deLio closed the channel. "Hail them, deLio."

But the response was not immediate. A moment later, deLio said, "We are receiving a message from their tactical -- stand down, and hold position. They will contact us momentarily."

Picard fumed, but waited, using the time to study the battered vessel. _Voyager_ had clearly been through a lot -- black scars across the hull, missing hull plates, and the viewports along the secondary hull were dark. It appeared, as the ship crossed in front of them and came to a stop facing the attack fleet of the unknown race that had been harassing the Romulans along the perimeter of the Empire closest to the Beta Quadrant, that the shuttle doors no longer sealed; there was the telltale glow of a force field present. 

"Captain Janeway is hailing, sir," deLio announced at last. The lift opened -- here came Troi, striding down to her place at his right hand. She'd gone to address a meltdown in the nursery.

{Yves and Amy are fine. I left them with Guinan.} She met his gaze briefly, then looked at _Voyager_. 

"Commander?"

"Captain Janeway is feeling confident and accomplished," she said. "I would assume it's her -- it's a familiar sort of confidence. Not unlike the sort I've been sitting next to, for so long."

"Incoming, from _Voyager_ ," deLio announced. 

"On the viewscreen."

Janeway had a smile and a different hairstyle than the picture in her file. Not that he had seen that recently, but the news article about losing contact with the ship about a year before had used that picture. She said nothing for a moment; Picard noticed out of the corner of his eye that Troi's expression had changed, that she was looking at him, and turned to her. Those dark eyes held wariness, surprise, and anything that could surprise her alarmed him.

"Captain Janeway," he exclaimed, coming to attention, allowing a subdued smile. "Decided to come home, have you?"

"I thought I would drop in. See if we could be of some assistance. The Xens'mik are not inclined to trust non-telepaths. Kes and I have asked them to hold position for now to give us an opportunity to get something more productive than a war going." She inclined her head toward the small blond woman standing at attention with her. Behind her, he could see an alien with a vertical thatch of blond hair at tactical, and a younger man at ops. The first officer's seat was vacant.

"You appear to have made friends with them already. Good -- please join me, if you would, so we can discuss how to proceed?"

"I'm on my way," Janeway said enthusiastically. The viewscreen went dark.

"Impressions?" he asked Troi quietly, returning to his seat. 

"Have you ever met Janeway?" She was working at her panel, bringing up Janeway's record. Deanna's head came up sharply. "She was at the Academy at the same time, two years ahead of me. But I know I've never met her."

"I believe I've seen her at some function or other. Why?"

"She knows us," Troi said softly. She met his gaze, serious and concerned. "It wasn't what I would expect from someone who knows you, by reputation only. When she saw us, she felt a surge of affection. Something like what I would sense from Beverly, after a protracted absence. Janeway was extremely happy to see us."

"It couldn't be anyone else on the bridge?" He considered -- but the rest of the crew were too new to Starfleet, or too young, or deLio who had only ever worked aboard the _Enterprise_ after leaving the L'norim fleet and going through an abbreviated course at the Academy.

"Captain Janeway is beaming over to transporter room two," deLio announced.

"You have the bridge, Commander. I'm going to meet our guest."

\------------------

Janeway stepped off the transporter, feeling a sense of _deja vu_ and smiling broadly at the young man at the console, in his more modern uniform. The door opened seconds later, and Captain Picard arrived.

He looked just the same, she thought. Attempting to contain herself, she gave him a nod instead of just hugging him. 

"Captain Janeway," he said, smiling -- but not quite warmly. Reserved. 

"Captain Picard -- it's an honor to meet you, sir. I've listened to your logs on a number of occasions -- invaluable, helped us through some rough times out there."

"Glad you were able to return the favor," he said pleasantly. "Shall we?"

Janeway strolled with him down the corridor, matching his stride. "I have a lot of catching up to do, now that we're back. We just came through the wormhole from the Delta Quadrant to the Tomed Nebula -- we followed the nearest Starfleet transceiver signal we could find, right to you. We have all of what's left of the Ghakan civilization, and one clan of the Xens'mik. I'm surprised they were not in contact with your first officer. They contacted Kes well before they uncloaked, to be sure we were friendly."

As she finished speaking, she glanced at him and caught a flash of frustration in his face. "Commander Troi is an empath."

This had been a part of it that had made no sense to her, but she remembered then that Deanna had mentioned not being a telepath, until later in her life. "I see. I had a Betazoid aboard... unfortunately, she died after we were taken to the Delta Quadrant. Well -- then there was Mr. Suder. But he wasn't telepathic at all."

"I've heard of that happening. Rare thing."

"He was Maquis. Not exactly the most regulation abiding, but he did well enough."

In the lift he directed them to the bridge. She tried to hide the disappointment, eager to see the kids and making an unconscious assumption they would head for deck eight, but knowing better. Halfway to the bridge, Picard's hand shot out and stopped the lift. He turned to her quite soberly, looking like he was about to jump off a cliff -- what was this about? She waited, watched him open his mouth, then frown as he shut it again. It was, she thought, not unlike Chakotay being anxious about trying to approach some subject about which he was afraid she'd become angry.

"You perhaps don't know," he began. "I'm not sure whether the news reached you, in the minimal contacts you have had with Starfleet...."

"About marrying your first officer," she guessed, and he straightened his shoulders as if bracing himself for impact. "Well, yes, I did know that."

Her mild response brought the tension down a few notches. Nodding, he sighed, and started again. "She's pregnant. It makes her very sensitive. I simply didn't want you to react to the news in a way that... well." He now looked at the floor, thinking, and another uncomfortable, tense moment passed. She almost put him out of his misery, started to tell him about the past she remembered that he would never experience, but the next thing he said shocked her.

"Extreme negative emotions can cause her physical problems early in pregnancy. I didn't want you to become angry, as it might have led to another miscarriage."

Janeway expressed the shock by going into motion -- she struck the panel, hard, and said, "Computer, reroute to deck two!"

Now he stared at her, and when the lift stopped, followed her from it. She hustled into the captain's private dining room, almost ordered Janeway one -- caught herself, and asked for coffee, black, hot. He watched her with bemusement.

"Look," she exclaimed, gesturing with her hands, pacing a little, snatching the cup after it materialized. She hadn't known about the miscarriage, and it had caught her flatfooted, sent her into shock, disrupted her determination to be calm and cool. "Look. I can't do this -- I promised I'd be good, but my God, Jean-Luc, you don't -- I've been practicing for months. Relaxation exercises, meditation, you name it. I took Vulcan lessons from Tuvok! I promised I wouldn't tell you about the time loop right away, or the things you won't know about because you did things that made them never happen, like all those months I spent playing with your children and getting to know Deanna. I didn't want to shock anyone -- I promise you, that I will not do a damn thing to disturb your lovely swan. Because I know -- because your son, Captain Picard, lectured me soundly, to get my act together and not cause problems for Cordie and Pierre."

By the time she stopped he was a picture of subdued shock. Brow furrowed, he stared at her while his eyebrows climbed, then slowly dropped. A sly smile gradually appeared. He collected himself, shifted his weight to his left foot, crossed his arms loosely, blinked.

And then the door opened, and Deanna flew in at a jog -- she already had her mouth open, and looked from one captain to the other, then stared at Picard as if demanding an explanation.

"She took Vulcan lessons," he said. Classic Picard strategy, to defuse the ticking Betazoid bomb -- or to make her smile, or laugh, even. Pick out something absurd and toss it to Dee, instead of letting her dig herself into anger or sadness. 

From her expression, Janeway thought Deanna might fly into a rage. But she paced, to the other end of the room and back. "What are you talking about?" she shouted. "What's going on?"

"It's all right, Deanna," Janeway said soothingly. "He's doing the best he can."

Deanna stopped, rocking back on her heels, and stared at her, somewhat deflated -- in shock. Janeway took another slow breath, exhaled silently, tucking her hands behind her to take her own pulse, surreptitiously. 

"It has to do with time travel," he said, more calm than before. "Apparently she met us in one of those damned loops."

"Oh." Deanna shook her head, suddenly losing all the tension. "When?"

Janeway sighed. "Two years ago, I went forward eight years -- Yves was eleven. I helped him with his homework, and you made me coffee -- please tell me you can re-create it, because we had a systems failure fourteen months ago and I lost the pattern! Anyway, there was a lot of -- oh, you know, can we do this after we deal with the Xens'mik? Work before play, you know."

"The bridge," Picard said, preceding them from the room.

In the lift, she laughed and pulled a picture out of her jacket. "I brought this for you. This is my daughter, Rosalind. I figure she'll make a wonderful playmate for Cordelia and Amy."

Picard went very, very still, looking at her instead of the picture she'd handed Deanna. He turned his head, and simultaneously, Deanna looked at him -- a moment of intensity, and both of them slid their eyes to her, as if expecting her to pounce, or perhaps bring out wedding pictures.

The lift opened on the bridge. Picard went between them and out, bearing left toward the observation lounge, and Janeway followed, more slowly. When Deanna came along behind, she slowed yet again, half turning, to catch her eye. They stopped, just for a few seconds, and gazed at each other. 

"How," Deanna whispered.

"It's Jean-Luc's fault, really. I asked him for a favor and he turned it into something wonderful."

Deanna smiled then, the dimples appearing and the crinkle in the corners of her eyes reassuring her. "All right," she said, finally reaching equilibrium with that reassurance. She gestured, and Janeway headed for the meeting, at peace with the past, the future, and quite happy with the present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rosalind is a character in As You Like It. She represented genuine love in the play.


	40. Chapter 40

And now, my imagination runs the end credits, with this story's theme song playing in the background: https://youtu.be/9HuNW3slvzs (just listen to the song, the printed lyrics are incorrect)

I abandoned the original version of this story a long time ago, when I ran out of inspiration, time and energy to finish it. Things happen in life. Sometimes you can come back. I'm glad I was able to do so. 

Originally, my premise was a standard Star Trek adventure, including conflicts with aliens. The skeleton of this story was the first part of the last draft. It came to me as I reread what I'd done that the real story was the recovery of Janeway from herself, more than from the DQ, but I didn't have Counselor Troi any more to do that -- and besides, one of the most deadly boring things around is to write about therapy. It made more sense to bring that story forward to be the main plot, instead of the subplot that it used to be. Also, given the position of the story in the C&C timeline, making the companion plot the Picard family and Jean-Luc feeling done with the professional side of his life made sense. He would have to be heading that direction soon if Home in a Handbasket were to happen on time. 

The reason this story got posted before its predecessors is simple -- a lot has to happen earlier in the timeline to make this story work, and I had to figure out this story first, to have the goal for the ones preceding it. Now I can go back and finish (or start) with some of the WIPs and plot bunnies.

For me, the series has become more than just a challenge to myself to make a romance between such an unlikely couple work -- it's become about the redemption of Jean-Luc Picard. I think I responded to him the way I have to clients who have been similar -- some people make life about a singular goal, neglect other aspects such as relationships or self care or self actualization, and end up approaching old age with a miserable retirement in sight because he/she neglected to set the foundations that would allow for the enjoyment of coming to rest after a lifetime of hard work. 

Far Afield is a microcosm of the larger series -- Janeway is a different person, needing different work. Her process would be different. And Troi, well informed by the progress of her own captain on his journey to a more balanced, emotionally healthy person than he was, knows what the larger picture is, so has a guide to help Janeway sift through the smaller pieces that make up the whole. But this can only be done slowly -- the progress can only come when the person is ready to accept that the changes are necessary, that the next step can be taken. Which is how the story kept ballooning in size, and how we will not truly see the end -- Janeway has to keep growing, as we all do. And I'm not going to write another series about Janeway.... My Janeway may differ from how the show's writers conceptualized her, as well as from fandom, but then, so does my concept of so many other characters. Seven is a perfect example of that. I wrote her consistent with observations of how traumatized children behave -- they will go through periods of better behavior, regress, and throw tantrums. 

The movement from Troi dealing with the issues Janeway had as a captain to the issues she has as a person may not be blatantly obvious, yet, but in a future edit I will make that more explicit. I confess to posting the last third of the story in first draft form, to maintain momentum and motivate myself to finish already, as it got busy for me and I got distracted by other things for those weeks -- I was determined not to let myself get dragged off and then leave it for months. Or years. Again.

I have no plans to extrapolate into the future of an adult Yves, but I do have gaps to fill in for Jean-Luc and Deanna. And Tom has a little work to do as well.

 

**Far Afield is directly tied to:**

Pressure of Stars on Darkness -- Picard remembers others tossing nuts in Troi's cleavage, and resorts to it to amuse her during the poker game.

Omega Doorstop -- Yves, the adult, in his message in Far Afield, refers to the assassins that showed up to try to kill Jean-Luc in this story. This is part of the dire future Troi tells Janeway about.

Home in a Handbasket -- Janeway writes a letter of reference for his application to the Academy.

unwritten plot bunny -- a story has been drifting around in my head, about the vacation they are on when Jean-Luc meets Kathryn on Betazed. Though I am uncertain whether or not she will actually appear in the story, since the causality loop was resolved, and she didn't end up in an institution there....

Wuthering Holodecks -- Jean-Luc refrains from reminding Deanna of her failure to entertain him with a holodeck simulation based on one of his old books, in the context of a conversation with Janeway about genres of fiction.

What the Tinman Found -- remembering the Borg and his recovery from assimilation goes straight back to this story, where a recounting of my version of it was revealed to him from Deanna's perspective. The red dress Troi wears to the poker game is also from this story, as is her ability to tie knots in cherry stems.

Actions Speak Louder/Dancing Lessons -- these two stories deal with Section 31, which Tom speaks briefly to Janeway about before the poker game. The WIP Ravens in the Storm also deals with the Section. 

On the Madhouse Boards -- The first encounter with the K'Korll, related to Tuvok along with related events in stories not yet written during the meld, happened in this story.

 

**The Far Afield timeline in a nutshell:**

Janeway moves forward in time via an Iconian gateway and lands in the middle of Picard's diplomatic mission six years after being stranded in the DQ. She is eight years in her future.

Starfleet lost contact with Voyager a year before she comes forward. In the old timeline, they were declared dead two years after contact was lost. Then the year after that, Voyager came home via a wormhole. In the new timeline, Janeway is reunited with her ship about two weeks before she went through the gateway and then Enterprise and Venture spend weeks working to repair Voyager, so that the ship can spend two more years returning home, timed to intervene in a dire situation -- their presence changes the future of the Federation from catastrophe to prosperity. 

Yves, aka Captain Picard, comes back in time to make the final adjustment to the time loop to successfully resolve it by taking Voyager through time forward a year, skipping another disaster and helping Kes learn techniques that help Janeway surmount the final obstacle, negotiation with a telepathic race of xenophobes. 

In the old timeline, Janeway comes back too late, the death toll in her crew is high, her own health extremely impaired to the point that a bitter Chakotay whose advice she refused to take had to take over the ship. Her ship is decommissioned, her career over, and she is in a mental institution on Betazed, which is where she starts the loop one day when Picard sees her in a park while on leave there.

After stopping the battle and saving the Federation, Janeway meets Troi and Picard again for the first time and resets everything -- Yves is six years younger, only five years old. Amy is barely two. The twins are a bun in the oven, two months along. She tells them the story of how she knows them, because now that the loop is resolved, the things that happened are undone, and she knows it won't harm the timeline.


End file.
